


Trick Or Tropes (Kinktober 2019)

by Burntfalls



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anonymous Sex, Beta Natasha Romanov, Body Modification, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Peter Parker, Bottom Tony Stark, Bottom Wade Wilson, Cock Cages, Domestic Fluff, Dominatrix, Drunk Peter Parker, Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, Hate Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Blood, Mutual Masturbation, Omega Tony Stark, Omega Wade Wilson, Orgasm Denial, Painplay, Prostitution, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Shower Sex, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Peter Parker, Top Steve Rogers, Top Wade Wilson, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burntfalls/pseuds/Burntfalls
Summary: Unrelated one-shots using Kinktober prompts. Index has prompts and pairings (+warnings if necessary) to jump to. Tags to be added as I complete each story.





	1. Index

1\. Index  
2\. Roleplay - Peter Parker & Wade Wilson  
3\. Painplay - Peter Parker & Wade Wilson  
4\. Shower - Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes  
5\. Orgasm Denial - Steve Rogers & Tony Stark  
6\. Knotting - Steve Rogers (pre-serum) & Bucky Barnes  
7\. Domesticity - Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes  
8\. Angry/Hate Sex - Peter Parker & Wade Wilson  
9\. Drunk Sex - Peter Parker & Wade Wilson  
10\. Heat Cycle - Bucky Barnes & Wade Wilson  
11\. Body Modification/Decoration - Bucky Barnes & Wade Wilson  
12\. Anonymous Sex - Peter Parker & Wade Wilson  
13\. Prostitution - Steve Rogers (pre-serum) & Bucky Barnes  
14\. Pillow Prince(ss) - Natasha Romanoff & Bucky Barnes  
15\. Fem-Dom Natasha Romanoff & Tony Stark  
16\. Somnophilia  
17\. Jealousy/Possessiveness  
18\. Double (or More) Penetration  
19\. Sex Toys  
20\. Filming  
21\. Semi-Public/Public Sex  
22\. Dub-Con/Non-Con  
23\. Primal Play  
24\. Stockings/Socks  
25\. Window/Balcony Sex  
26\. Body Swap  
27\. Exhibitionism  
28\. Tentacles  
29\. Master/Mistress  
30\. Telepathic or Empathic Bonds  
31\. Fucking Machine  
32\. Sexual Frustration


	2. Roleplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade gives Peter the gift of a fucking from a galaxy far, far away.

“Okay what’s this?” Spidey held up a black vest and a belt with a plastic blaster pistol on it.

Deadpool’s apartment was surprisingly tidy. His armchair of depression was covered with a sheet which didn’t do much to hide it from Peter’s memories (out of sight was not, in this case, out of mind, especially since the sheet Wade had used was bright pink with pineapples all over it but Peter was giving him a B+ for effort at least.)

The belt and vest and a pair of black leather pants and a shirt that Peter was pretty sure was barely even a shirt had been folded on the dining room table in front of the door with a big note on it that said, _FOR PETEY PIE._

“HELP ME HAN YOU’RE MY ONLY HOPE!” squealed Wade from his bedroom.

Peter blinked, tugging his mask off. They’d been spending more and more time together unmasked over the last year. Traded stories and jokes and hobbies then meals and kisses and dates and handjobs and now…

“It’s Obe Wan Kenobi who’s the only hope…” Peter began as he started toward the room.

“STOP!” Wade barked more seriously, “Put on your costume.”

“Wade--” Peter protested, stilling across the living room still, unable to see into the bedroom.

“It’s my birthday, Petey.”

“It is not.”

“IT COULD BE you don’t know when my birthday IS.”

“Oh my god.” Peter groaned but there was a laugh in it and he double-checked the lock on the door then slipped out of his Spider-Man uniform and tugged on the leather pants which fit him surprisingly well (no, wait, he wasn’t surprised, Wade definitely had his ass memorized, of course he knew what size pants to get Peter.) And tugged on the barely-there shirt and the black vest and the belt-- honestly he pulled off Han Solo pretty well.

He stopped again in the doorway to the bedroom which had been transformed with a bunch of gaudy ugly fake-gold trash from the dollar store or thrift store, and a giant Jabba the Hutt pillow was propped on the bed.

Peter’s jaw dropped.

ALSO propped on the bed was Deadpool. Uh. Sort of. He had his mask on but he was wearing the trademark slave Leia bikini in gold with a slip of dark red fabric just barely covering his modesty.

“What the--”

“HAN! You came! I knew you would.” Wade enthused, clutching at a gold chain that was tied to the bed frame with a twist-tie.

Peter’s lips parted to protest but he took in the colossal amount of _effort_ Wade had gone to and remembered that it was _Peter_ who had mentioned he loved Star Wars and realized that this wasn’t for Wade but for himself and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course I would.” he agreed and stalked across the room, brandishing the blaster at Hutt, “Let Leia go!”

A raucous ‘fight’ ensued but eventually the Jabba pillow was across the room and upside down and Wade was gripping the front of Peter’s vest, “Han, I never told anyone this but I actually have a slave fetish.”

Peter blinked, definitely off script now, “Okay.” he agreed, his fingers unconsciously playing with the edge of the straps on Wade’s solid hips- it felt odd to be the shorter, slighter of the two and yet there was Wade in a bikini lipping at Peter’s jaw like he wanted to be carried away.

“Grab my chain. Show me why you saved me.” he panted and pawed at Peter’s half-hard cock in his gaudy leather pants.

Peter gasped and groaned and bobbed his head agreeably, reaching up behind Wade to tug on the chain that was attached to his neck by a big metal collar (which didn’t look fake, unlike the rest of the stuff in here, like Wade had actually invested here.)

The front of the skirt coming off of that bikini bottom was a massive tent by now, Wade’s comically-huge cock seemed to harden double-time at Peter’s forcefulness and Peter took it as a sign.

They both knew that Peter was the stronger of the two of them and he put it to use, tugging Wade down to his knees, “You’re graetful that I saved you?” he prompted, his fingers sliding along the collar pointedly.

Wade yanked up the mask to his nose faster than Peter had ever seen him do- it seemed odd for the mask to sill be on while the rest of his body was practically bare, all of his marred, ugly skin on display, but Peter figured that Wade had wanted to cling to one safety blanket and he wasn’t going to take it away from him.

“Yes. Yes Han, tomorrow I’m going to kick your ass but today--” He yanked down those leather pants and Peter sprang free, eager and perfectly at mouth-level. Wade didn’t bother finishing his sentence, he just flicked his tongue over the tip of Peter’s cock, tasting the bead of precum that had formed there at the mere sight of Wade on his knees (Peter was no stranger to Wade’s talented mouth.) Peter’s head rolled back and he groaned, gripping the collar on Wade’s neck which reminded him, “Less talking.” he tugged on the collar and Wade moaned, though the sound was quickly muffled by Peter’s cock halfway down his throat.

Peter couldn’t help his own yelp of surprised approval and his legs trembled as the heat seared through his veins and coiled up behind his navel, already racing toward a finish far too quickly.

“Wade-- Wade--” he tried to protest but Wade just hummed a ‘whooo?’ sound around Peter’s throbbing dick and Peter finally realized his mistake, “LEIA! Wait.”

Wade obediently popped off and looked up at Peter, so serene and sickly sweet, “Yes Han?”

“Get-- on the bed.” he managed to rasp out, already regretting being so close and making Wade stop. Wade jumped onto the bed eagerly and Peter took a beat to collect himself before he followed, yanking Wade’s chain between the dowels of the headboard to make loops which he tugged Wade’s hands through, “You don’t like how I use my hands, Han?”

“Oh I do, but it’s my turn now.” Peter informed Wade, moving behind the Princess-Slave-Merc now. Wade’s ass was in the air and his back arched in a theatrical display. Peter considered him for a moment before he used the tip of the blaster pistol to slide the fabric of the ‘skirt’ off of Wade’s ass. Of course he was commando under it and Peter let out a shuddered breath at the sight of Wade on flagrant display. 

He’d long since gotten used to and even begun to appreciate Wade’s scarred skin and though it had been _a lot_ to take in at first, he now touched it eagerly and without hesitation.

“Did he touch you?” Peter asked without thinking, falling into the roll now a little easier with Wade’s face away from him.

“The Hutt? Oh yeah his slimey paws were all over my hot body.”

“Where?” Peter asked, dragging the tip of the disruptor down Wade’s spine toward his shoulders, “Here?”

“Oh yeah definitely. He put me in this dumb costume.” Wade nodded eagerly.

“Here?” Peter dragged the tip of the toy around to poke at Wade’s bikini top.

“Yeah. Oh yeah. You should’ve seen that slimy bastard sucking on them. I need you to replace that memory hardcore.”

“What about here?” Peter tapped the blaster against the curve of Wade’s ass cheek.

“Handsy. He was handsy, Han, they should call him Jabba the Butt.” Wade agreed, his hips shifted as he shimmied his knees further apart, as though baring more of himself to Peter behind him would hurry Peter’s playing along.

Peter slid the tip of the blaster down the inside of Wade’s thigh then back up, gently brushing it over Wade’s balls, “And here?”

Wade shuddered and groaned, “Of course not, no, that’s just for you baby boy-- I mean Han. Just for you--”

Peter grunted like he didn’t quite believe Wade and his slight weight lifted off of the bed. He knew where Wade kept the lube (and all of his other paraphernalia, honestly it was a LOT) and he came back with a bottle in hand which he snapped open and drizzled from a dumb height just to watch the clear liquid land and pool on the perfectly tight hole. Which was also scarred, Peter had noted before. It made loosening Wade up a bit of a trial (when they switched, let’s be honest, Peter was usually the one bent over) but well worth it.

“I don’t believe you.” Peter informed Wade who groaned at the feeling of the cool liquid dribbling over him then dripping down between his legs. Peter discarded the blaster and his finger dragged up an errant drop of oil along the back of Wade’s balls and scooped it up to rub a firm circle around Wade’s hole, “But that’s alright because I’ve got you now.”

“Yeah you do.” Wade panted, straining to push against Peter’s finger hungrily.

Peter made Wade wait, whining and straining for a couple slow laps before he pushed in. He was tight around Peter’s finger and after a couple quick strokes he added a second finger, his free hand stroking Wade’s cock in too-slow movements meant just to keep him hard and nothing else, “I’m gonna remind you who it is who came to save you.”

“You did. You did Han, fuck you’re so cocky.”

“I think I’ve earned it.” Peter pointed out, scissoring his fingers and adding more oil and taking his sweet time until he felt reassured that Wade was ready.

“Just don’t come in less than twelve parsecs.” Wade demanded in a high-pitched voice that wasn’t put on.

Peter chuckled as he pumped his cock a couple times, slicking it up with the leftover lube, then pressed himself in, the explosive pleasure zipping through him and stealing his breath at the searing hot squeeze of Wade’s insides, “No promises.” he rasped.

“Oh fuck baby boy-- Han. Han. You’re so perfect and big and show me why you’re so cocky. Show me with your cock--” Wade babbled as he arched and writhed and tried to draw Peter in more quickly, impatient now.

Peter gripped the waist of that stupid, but surprisingly convenient, outfit and forced Wade still as he sank in inch by agonizing inch until he was buried fully and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “I might keep you in chains, Leia.” he warned as he tried out a slow thrust. The chains in question rattled as Wade jerked with the impact, “Yes. Forever. Fuck Hutt, I’m your slave Han-- or we’re each other’s slaves. Leia is a bad bitch okay, she’s not-- Oh!” Wade was interrupted by Peter’s hand coming down hard on his ass.

The slap echoed in the room and Peter managed, “Right now you’re the one in chains, though.” He leaned forward a bit so that Wade had to press his cheek against the headboard and then back to give them just the right amount of space to give Wade leverage, “Alright. Show me how grateful you are.” Peter demanded with a grin.

Wade let out a moan and started fucking himself backward onto Peter, at first it was slow but he couldn’t seem to help himself, the bed trembled and squeaked with the force of Wade’s thrusts, wanting to ruin himself on Peter’s cock.

“Han, Han, I’m so close, c’mon--”

“Heroes come first.” Peter choked out, though he was pretty sure he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted. Despite the proclamation, he leaned forward to reach around Wade’s hip and gripped him. The Spider-skills came in hand, balance and dexterity, and Wade was always wildly excited to have Peter use them in the bedroom. He put a hand flat on Wade’s shoulders to press them down and pushed Wade’s knees further up to angle his ass higher in the air, stopping Wade’s enthusiastic fucking for a moment. 

Wade’s ragged breath and nonstop moans encouraged Peter’s quick hand and he angled himself draped over Wade in a contorted angle so that he could start drilling Wade into the bed at a rabbit-fast pace. Wade yowled with pleasure and Peter was sure he’d be getting complaints from next door, or possibly a bullet hole in the wall any minute now, but he didn’t let up, already too close to his own ecstasy to stop.

Wade’s voice cracked as he cried out, “MILLENIUM FUCKFALCON!” and squeezed like a vice around Peter’s furiously pumping cock whilst spilling simultaneously over Peter’s generously stroking hand. It was more than enough to tip Peter over his hyper-sensitive edge and he let out a relieved sob as he stilled, twitching.

“Oh my god.” Wade moaned a moment later, when they’d both caught their breath but still hadn’t moved from the lewd tangle on the bed, “You’re the princess next time.” Wade murmured.

“I don’t know if I can pull off the bikini as well as you.” Peter huffed and pulled out to flop down beside Wade.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing.” Wade puffed at Peter, “We’re gonna do Leia in Vader’s dungeon. Get ready.”

Peter laughed and rolled sideways to kiss Wade tiredly, “I love you.”

“I know.” Wade grinned.


	3. Painplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter intimately obliges Wade's desire for a pain-fuelled high.

Peter didn’t like hurting Wade. He’d done it a few times by mistake (okay admittedly a while ago once or twice it had been on purpose but Deadpool had been seriously driving him up the wall) in a brawl. This was different, though.

The sound of the leather snapping against Wade’s marred skin is sharply followed by a raspy moan from the massive man, “Ten.” he moans when Peter prods him with the butt of the whip, “Thank you.” he adds and Peter lifts his arm again.

The leather connects and Wade lets out a shuddering moan, “Nine. Thank you.”

His arms are stretched out, held in place like he’s on a cross by strands of Peter’s webbing affixed to the upper corners of the walls in the room. Wade is naked, every inch of his ugly, scarred skin bared for Peter’s intimate gaze.

“Eight. Thank you.” Wade all but sings as Peter brings it down again on his perfectly muscled ass. There are ugly red marks but Peter knows that they have to be there- if they’re not, then it’s not hard enough. Wade wants it hard.

“Seven. Ahh-- yes-- thank you.” Wade gasps.

Peter knows he’s in pain all of the time- an ugly, heavy feeling of _sick_. Wade described it once, the way you ache when you’ve got a cold but doubled-down. The throbbing in your head from a pressure change or a day spent in front of too-bright lights. His organs are _sore_. The sick is so pervasive that it effects all of him- even as his body is constantly healing. It doesn’t stop the pain. The discomfort.

But this does.

“Six. Oh Petey- baby- thank you.” Wade sobs greedily.

This perfect connection of stinging leather to scarred skin gives him a brief and beautiful flash of nothingness in the moments that follow- the searing, purposefully-inflicted and vivid pain of it is a beautiful ecstasy that Wade is all but addicted to.

“Five. Thank you. Thank you.” Peter can see Wade’s cock jump with every lash- it’s not just pain but it’s pleasure, too. Every lash releases a spiral of heat that shivers up Wade’s legs and settles behind his navel and throbs through his erection, pulsing with a blissful desire that screams to be fulfilled.

Peter pauses to stroke Wade’s cock, which is a monster and Peter knows it because he’s had his mouth on it before and it’s really no joke, with the handle of the whip, “Four more, Wade.” Peter warns, the session coming to a close.

“Please, please baby boy.” Wade’s legs tremble and he arches his back, searching for sweet, sweet friction against the leather handle. Peter swipes his thumb over the tip of Wade’s cock but he draws back and the whip snaps and Wade gasps, “Four. Thank you.”

“You’ve been really good.” Peter tells Wade. Truth was it’s been a really rough week. Wade’s been looking forward to this and Peter knows it.

“Yeah, yeah? Have I? How good, baby boy?” Wade has a blind fold on and he twists and writhes to try and compensate for his inability to see-- following the sound of Peter’s voice as he circles the captive merc.

“I’ll give you an extra.” Peter tells Wade gently- and it’s a sacrifice because every time that whip connects with Wade’s already-demolished flesh it hurts Peter a little, too.

“Oh baby boy, it’s like Christmas and Easter had a chocolate baby and it’s--” he yelps a happy, blissful yelp, “Three. Three, or four? Four-- thank you, Petey Pie.”

The last three are slower and Wade is shivering by the end of it, his erection so swollen and needy that it’s throbbing red and leaking with a plea for release.

Peter drops to his knees and he swallows Wade in, used to the size and how it stretches his mouth by now. He hollows out his cheeks as he drags his mouth back, suckling desperately before sinking again, the head of Wade’s cock pressing against his throat. Peter’s fingers dig into the still-hot marks on Wade’s rear and the sting combined with the heat of Peter’s mouth is all Wade needs to find rapture, babbling nonsense about the explicit rating and ‘cock-hungry’ tags or something (Peter has given up trying to decipher Wade’s orgasm-talk.) Peter chokes a bit before he gets up and reaches to help Wade down from the bindings. 

It isn’t hard for Peter to scoop Wade up and carry him bridal-style to the bed-- his super-strength comes in handy sometimes like that-- and then he’s gently tucking a pillow under Wade’s head and climbing up beside him. There’s cool cloths he has already prepared and Peter carefully presses them to Wade’s bottom, adjusting him so he’s comfortable on his stomach.

“Thank you.” Wade murmurs quietly and Peter shifts to stretch out beside him, pillowing his head on his arm as he strokes Wade’s arm and shoulder, “Of course, Wade.”

“I’m really lucky to have you, y’know that baby boy?” Wade’s eyes are brimming with tears and Peter reaches to brush them away without judgment, “Not lucky.” Peter murmurs, “You deserve it. Someone to take care of you-- to understand you.”

“I love it when you say nonsense like that.” Wade smiles and kisses Peter’s wet thumb and then opens his arm to welcome Peter into a hug. Peter snuggles in, closing his eyes tiredly, “Very in-character.” Wade murmurs against the crown of Peter’s head, smiling stupidly.

Peter is tired but not physically- he could whip Wade for a week straight and probably not get tired, it isn’t exactly strenuous, but Peter’s exhausted from the implications of it all. Emotionally. Mentally.

Wade gets that. It’s a mutual sacrifice. He brushes a kiss over Peter’s messy brown hair and strokes his arm and traces patterns over his palm, offering back the gentle recovery that Peter has offered him.

“Feel better?” Peter asks after a while of laying there, cradled in the cocoon of Wade’s powerful, forgiving and grateful arms.

“Like new, baby boy. You make me feel like new.” Wade murmurs happily against the nape of Peter’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this fic was spawned entirely from the imagination of @Letsgetloud so I can't really take creative credit for the idea <3


	4. Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky share a steamy shower.

Bucky stood in the shower, rivulets of warm water running down his filthy body and pooling at his feet, swirling around a shiny metal drain. The tiles were clean, or they had been wherever he hadn’t splashed his filth on them. For some reason he was mesmerized by the grout- it was white and clean and divided every white tile into perfect squares, unchipped. Untarnished save for what he touched.

No, _Bucky_ didn’t stand in the shower under that water, The Asset did. The Fist of Hydra.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice floated through the rising steam-- Captain America, Captain Steven Rogers. His voice was familiar- deeper and stronger than the most powerful memories but still familiar. Still very much _Stevie_.

Barnes tore his blue eyes up from the tiles to blink at the gap in the tiles on the far end of the shower where one could enter without being splashed by the faucet. The washroom was designed with functionality and modesty and even beauty in mind. It was nothing like the shower at his last post- a cube with freezing water and no privacy.

Not that he needed privacy.

Steve stepped just into the doorway, concerned with Buck’s lack of movement. He looked a bit abashed and glanced away but Bucky didn’t flinch, “Yes?” he replied belatedly, his voice rough and thick from lack of proper use.

“You doin’ okay?” Steve asked, his gaze shifting to Bucky’s feet.

“I think so.” Barnes followed Steve’s gaze down to his feet.

“There’s soap-- just there.” Steve pointed to a row of dispensers on the wall and Barnes blinked at them dully, aware of their use but feeling in such a fog that he didn’t move for them.

After a beat, Steve cleared his throat, “You need-- you need a hand?”

Barnes wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shuffled forward a bit, “Alright.”

Steve didn’t have to be asked twice. He shucked his clothes promptly and folded them hastily to set aside before he stepped in. They’d showered together before- during the war there hadn’t been a lot of opportunity for privacy. This was nothing new.

Except everything was new. Bucky was back. Sort of. The man who used to be Bucky was back. There had been a fight and Steve still wasn’t quite over the feeling of his fist impacting Bucky’s jaw. Since then there had been some cat and mouse but eventually Buck had come around-- or had recognized Steve just enough to let himself be brought in.

And here they were.

Barnes clearly had not been taking care of himself for some time and even when he had been getting some ‘care’ it had been in the interest of keeping a weapon functional, not a human being with emotional, psychological and physical needs.

“There you go.” Steve steered Bucky half out of the water and got his hands soaped up, “Oughta’ get you a haircut.” he smiled a bit ruefully, soaping up Buck’s chest and shoulders.

“A hippie.” Bucky said distractedly.

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah you’d’ve been called a hippie with all this hair. Doesn’t look bad, though.” Steve filled the void of silence between them with a content chatter. It should’ve been Bucky doing the talking- he’d always been someone who shouldered the brunt of a conversation with ease and charisma.

“Steve?” Barnes’ voice was thick and his eyes were closed, his lips drawn into a taut line.

“Yeah Buck?” Steve’s hands stilled on his friend’s arms.

“Is this it? Is this the end of the line?” he rasped and for the first time he sounded like _Bucky_.

“No.” Steve breathed, “No Buck, no sweetheart. Just a hiccup in the line, alright, I’ve got you.”

Buck’s hand came up to grip Steve’s elbow, the metal one hanging limp and heavy at his side like a foreign intruder on his silhouette, “Do you remember the cabin?”

Mr Barnes’ fishing cabin in the sticks without power or modern amenities that Steve and Buck had escaped to once or twice in their youth. It was where they’d shared a kiss and a curious night huddled against the cold of a winter night beneath a single blanket in a single bed.

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat, his thumbs stroking patterns in the bubbles on Bucky’s arms, “Yeah of course I do.”

“And that night?” Buck’s eyes opened.

Steve’s expression softened, “How could I forget?”

“Can you-- I just-- I feel like nothing’s real.” Bucky whispered, there was a shiver of something terrified in there and Steve was reminded of that moment when he’d found Bucky strapped to that table in the Hyrdra labs.

“Okay.” Steve nodded, his features growing a bit more serious- he could be Bucky’s anchor against whatever storm he was facing. Carefully, gently, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Bucky’s.

Buck’s mouth was oddly dry and his beard was just short enough to be scratchy and he was _perfect_.

The kiss remained chaste only for a moment before Bucky abruptly deepened it and a throaty grunt rumbled up his chest.

“Hey-- just--” Steve drew back, gently putting some space between them, “Let’s get you cleaned up first.” he stroked Buck’s rough cheek with an encouraging smile and reached for more soap. He was gentle and thorough-- or as thorough as modesty allowed but just as he was moving to motion that Buck rinse off, Bucky reached for Steve’s hand and drew it in.

Steve peered at Bucky but allowed it. Buck drew Steve’s hand against his chest and stepped forward until Steve’s elbow had to bend and Buck slid his hand down, over his chiselled abdomen and into the cut above his hip, “Steve.” Barnes pressed his brow to Steve’s and Steve nodded with allowance before Buck finished the journey, guiding Steve’s hand down to curl around his hardening cock.

“Buck--” Steve breathed in a heated shudder, “I missed you so much.”

“I--” Bucky hadn’t missed Steve. He didn’t even remember him until a short while ago. How do you miss someone you’d forgotten? He was sorry, he thought, he was sorry for forgetting Steve. He didn’t know how to say that so he just crushed his mouth against Steve’s instead.

The kiss was hungry and demanding and Steve’s hand moved in quick, eager strokes as though determined to show Bucky that this was real with every ounce of enthusiasm possible. Bucky’s hand was not as steady and it was not as pretty but he returned the favour until they were coming one after the other with wet gasps, sagging against the tile wall, tangled up with one another.

“I’ve got you.” Steve panted tiredly as the evidence of their intimacy was washed away down the drain, his arms wrapped tight around Bucky’s sagging figure-- the weight of the relief at having that intimate link reaffixed exhausting, “This isn’t it, but I’ve still got you to the end of the line, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”


	5. Orgasm Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes Tony firmly in hand and literally locks Tony's cock away.

He could barely focus. Usually the work fugue was more than enough to distract him from whatever physical discomfort he was in- lord knew it had worked when his reactor had been slowly poisoning him- but for some reason it couldn’t keep his mind off of his throbbing cock. ‘Some’ ‘reason.’

Steve had rolled up this morning, early, just before his run at It’s Ungodly Fucking Early o’clock and torn the egyptian cotton sheets off of Tony’s sleeping form. At first, Tony had groggily thought _too bad I don’t sleep nude_ but now he was beginning to have second thoughts about his impulsive generosity.

“You missed a board meeting yesterday.” Steve said, not as though he was informing Tony of something but explaining something to him.

“You woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn to tell me that?” Tony squinted up at Steve and tried to sprawl out seductively on the bed. It worked, sort of, because Steve’s eyes roved over Tony’s bare chest and down his stomach to the waistband of his flannel pyjama pants.

“No. I woke you up to tell you you’re being punished.”

“Punished?” that got a laugh out of Tony, “You going to spank me?”

“Oh, probably.” Steve said a bit too glibly, there was a glint in his eye that Tony didn’t really recognize and he sat up, running his tongue over his teeth to dispel the fuzzy morning feeling on them, “We agreed you were going to take things more seriously, Tony.” Steve’s voice was stern but there wasn’t actually too much bite in it, considering.

“I am. I’m taking lots of things seriously, like how I bet your cock would taste great for breakfast.”

“Tony, this is serious.” Steve reached to grab Tony’s pants by the ankles and yanked them down.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Tony agreed _seriously_.

Steve gave him a _look_. He reached for a box that he’d set on the side table when he’d first come in and he opened it now, holding up a small device. It was silver and had a bit of glitter like maybe there were some little gems in it. Tony blinked. Steve smirked.

“What in the holy hell--” Tony began.

Steve opened a latch and held up the world’s tiniest padlock, “I’m told it’ll keep you from getting too excited.”

Tony’s brows shot up, “Well, yeah, it’ll do that. But _why_?”

“I told you, Tony, I’m bringing you to heel.” Steve moved so he was lined up with Tony’s hip and he paused with the gaudy little cock cage held over Tony’s hips. There was a moment where Tony’s eyes tore off of the device and met Steve’s and a silent exchange of request and affirmation of consent was given, then Steve’s gentle hands were tucking Tony into the cage.

He was already half hard, though, so it served to be a problem. Steve got it half on and then smiled slightly and patted Tony’s knee, “Relax.”

“I’m _trying_ but that’s-- this is-- really fucking hot.” Tony whined petulantly and closed his eyes, digging the heels of his hands into them.

“Alright, I have to go for my run.” Steve pinched the inside of Tony’s knee with another one of those now-familiar smirks, “This better be on when I get back.”

“How long are you going to be?” Tony asked, dropping one hand to squint at Tony with a single eye-- clearly calculating if he had enough time to jerk off first.

“An hour. And you better not touch yourself other than to get that on.” Steve warned. He passed over the padlock and Tony spotted a tiny key on a chain around Steve’s neck. Which shot another very unhelpful surge of desire down to the tip of his cock.

“Nnn. This is cruel and unusual.” Tony complained without any weight behind it.

“Just the way you like.” Steve agreed and disappeared out the door.

It had taken Tony fifteen minutes of imagining Justin Hammer failing to solve a very simple engineering problem in order to get himself soft enough to latch the damn thing shut. Tony had spent a bit of time fondling himself through the cage, curious about the exact extent of its restrictions. It was not disappointing. Also that had been a terrible idea.

He’d dressed in loose sweats and a tee-shirt, having planned to spend the day in the lab anyway, and shuffled down uncomfortably to work. Tony had incorrectly assumed he could totally ignore the device that was choking off his cock while he worked on the latest schematics for thruster upgrades on his Iron Man suit.

Instead he found himself watching the clock, counting down the minutes and even seconds until he expected Steve. And worse, Steve was _late_.

“That fucking boyscout is early for every goddamn meeting.” he muttered to himself and Jarvis offered helpfully to call Steve for him. Tony waved J off and hunched over the table, just thinking about using a laser cutter to get the damn thing off when Steve came strolling through the door.

He was freshly showered and looked smug as hell, “Tony.”

“Steve!” Tony tried not to sound relieved and excited to see him. He failed miserably.

“You get it on?” Steve asked.

“That’s a stupid question.” Tony tugged at his sweats. Steve nodded pointedly, wanting to see it. Tony rolled his eyes but he yanked his pants down too quickly for it to have been any real protest. Steve stepped in close and ran his fingers over the flesh that was now bulging from behind the metal bars of Tony’s prison. Tony groaned and swayed a bit.

“Turn around.” Steve ordered.

Tony could’ve given himself whiplash with how quickly he spun and bent over the table. Steve had come prepared and it was only a moment before a lubed finger was pressing into Tony. Tony grunted, shivering out a gasp, “Steve-- I don’t like to be dramatic--”

“Yes you do.” Steve mused, pushing in a second finger and making Tony squeak.

“Shut up-- but if you aren’t fucking me in ten second I’m going to literally die.”

“Alright.” Steve huffed and there was the familiar sound of a slick hand slapping against flesh for a second then Steve’s hand gripped Tony’s hip and he was pressing in. There hadn’t been quite enough prep and Tony hissed with the painful stretch, sucking in a breath and forcing himself to relax. Steve didn’t like to hurt Tony but he also knew Tony had a _thing_ for adding a little pain along with his pleasure so he could readily oblige.

When Tony seemed ready to handle it, Steve began a quick, rapid pace with one goal in mind- getting himself off. Tony groaned and let out agonized little yelps with every electrifying bump of Steve’s perfect cock against his prostate, “Oh, Jesus, Steve I can’t--”

“I know.” Steve growled, smug, and his fingers tangled through Tony’s messy bed-head to grip tight as he slammed home with his own release. After a moment, Steve drew out with agonizing slowness before he stepped back and adjusted himself.

“Can you pop?” Tony wanted to know, gasping as he turned around to expose his greedy, angry cock swollen in its cage, “Tell me you can’t pop.” he reached to touch it and Steve’s hand snapped out to slap Tony’s away, “Don’t.”

“Steve.”

“Tony. You have another board meeting this afternoon. To make up for yesterday’s. They were very generous to come back in for it.”

“And you want me to go.” Tony gave Steve a sceptical look.

“Yes. Go shower. I’ll get lunch.”

Steve assured him he could shower with the cage on, much to Tony’s dismay (or excitement? It was hard to say where the line was drawn there, the perfect agony and blissful torture blending together.) Lunch was cobb salads with a side of Steve’s cock- sucking a dick had never made Tony more horny (or UN-horny, fuck) than it did that day.

He dressed in his suit and he was three-hundred-percent sure that someone was going to notice the bulging cage through his pants but if they did, no one commented. He spent the whole meeting struggling to focus on the subjects at hand (which he thought really defeated the whole purpose of this, didn’t it?) and finally they dismissed and he shook hands with everyone and then all but fled back to his penthouse.

Steve was, predictably, waiting.

“Were you here the whole time!?” Tony barked as he came through the doors, tearing off his clothes one piece at a time.

“No, Jarvis told me when your meeting was done.” Steve mused, “C’mere.”

“Do I get to come now?” Tony whined, climbing into Tony’s lap with his shirt half open, his pants unbuttoned and his tie and suit jacket discarded on the floor.

Steve rubbed him through his pants, “No.” Steve’s hands slid around Tony’s rump and hoisted him up to take him to the bedroom. He stripped Tony bare and slicked himself up to fuck him hard and fast, Tony’s cries of demand echoing through the otherwise empty penthouse unanswered.

Steve pulled out and cuddled Tony into his chest.

Tony was throbbing and he was pretty sure he was going to die of blue-balls. He thought about asking when Steve would take it off but part of him didn’t want it off. Strangely. Yes, he wanted to erupt like a fucking volcano right now, but there was something almost soothing about the grip that Steve had on him. The intimacy of the hold, the strength of Steve’s ownership over Tony- a certain safety in knowing that he could trust it. He could trust Steve.

Gingerly, Tony drew Steve’s hand off of his bare hip and tucked it down between his legs. Steve smiled against Tony’s ear and kissed his neck as his fingers traced the metal cage, “You’re such a good boy, Tony. So good.”


	6. Knotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha Stevie takes care of his bigger, stronger Omega, Bucky.

“Have a long day?” Bucky mused dryly as Steve came through the door and dropped his lunch pail with a loud thunk on their rickety kitchen table.

“_Yes_.” Steve informed him with a glower before coughing into the corner of his elbow.

Barnes frowned and set the book he’d been reading aside. He’d been out of work for a couple weeks now which was infuriating but there wasn’t much he could do- being an Omega made for negligible opportunities in an already slim workforce. If he’d been a woman, which most Omegas were, he’d have been married off and pushing out pups by now. As it was, he had to deal with both the frustrating limitations of his gender and also the stigma of being a male Omega.

“You alright?”

“Yeah just a bit winded. Had to jog to catch the bus.” Steve waved Bucky off but true to his nature, Buck moved to get Steve a glass of water and bullied him to the couch. He might have been bigger and stronger and more fit in every way than Stevie, but Steve had somehow hit the genetic lottery and presented as an Alpha.

They certainly were an odd couple- a sickly, small and frail Alpha and a male Omega who took no shit and refused to roll over.

Stevie took a sip of the water and blew out a heavy breath, “They laid off two more guys.”

“But not you.” Buck said firmly, proudly.

“No, but they probably won’t.” Steve grimaced guiltily, “I have the benefit of status.” Alphas were heralded as the best of the best and to have one in your workforce was a massive bonus- they made people pay attention, rallied groups, were powerful leaders. Steve didn’t look it but Bucky knew that he had all of that in him- the strength of character it required, if not the physical muscle to back it up.

“You need your inhaler.” Buck had leaned close and listened to Steve’s laboured breathing, “Did you pick it up on your way home?”

“No. Didn’t have time. Stayed late.” Steve slouched back on the couch but offered Buck a wan smile, “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

“Nah you sit here. Sit tight. I’ll get it sweetheart.” Buck got up and patted Stevie’s knee. Steve meant to protest but, honestly, he liked how Bucky took care of him. It was nice to come home to. He knew that Bucky wanted to be working- that he was going stir-crazy in their little house, he’d spent his youth working between school responsibilities and when he’d presented late as an O, the whole life he’d plotted out ahead of himself had basically gone up in smoke.

Steve could let him do errands if it made Buck feel more productive.

Bucky was hurrying through town, keeping a brisk clip as he knew Steve would feel better more promptly once he had his lungs all fixed up, then they could get to more important things. He was making good time until he faltered at a sign in a window- an office space recently cleared out thanks to the awful economy was being rented again. The new tenants were army recruiters, temporary by the looks of the hastily pasted posters in the window and the minimal furniture inside.

Buck stalled there, peering longingly at the proud men in their smart uniforms drawn on the sharply enticing poster. He’d wanted to be one of them so badly- worked so hard during school, made his father so proud until--

“What’re you looking at?” came a voice to his right, sneering and smug. The Alpha scent drifted toward Buck and he tilted his head toward the stranger with an annoyed look.

“You going to join the laundry brigade?” the alpha was flanked by two beta lackeys.

“Why, are you hiring? Those shirts are more wrinkled than your grandmother’s behind.” Bucky drawled with a smirk.

One of the betas glared at him and Buck could smell the liquor on them now that they were nearer. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and propped one between his lips, squinting at them, “Why don’t you boys head back to the bar and cool down?” 

“You better watch your mouth, Omega.” snarled the Alpha, “Remember who you’re talking to, you filthy freak.”

Buck could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise-- the demanding voice of the Alpha was hard to fight against. He lit his cigarette and took a puff before he offered the pack to them.

One of the betas smacked it out of his hand and into the dirt.

“He’s not even a real Omega.” offered out one of them, “He’s some mutated birth defect his sick mother didn’t properly deal with.”

That was enough for Buck, who was already crawling out of his skin with boredom. He’d been bending down to retrieve the pack of cigarettes but when he came up he swung his arm and his fist connected soundly with the jaw of the offending beta. He dropped the cigarette from his lips and stamped on it with a snarl, “Now get out of my way.”

Of course they didn’t. It might’ve saved Bucky a lot of trouble if he’d been frightened or alarmed and the distress could’ve made the offenders take a second thought about what they were doing, but instead he brawled like he was enjoying himself and it gave them no hesitation.

Three against one, even if one did have a concussion already, weren’t great odds and Buck really hated himself for the flood of relief that came when he heard Stevie’s voice, “HEY! Get off of him!”

Of course he dove into the fray, Bucky’s perfect, scrawny, fearless Alpha. His visceral rage over Bucky being fought with was enough to bristle the other three out of their brawling haze and there was quickly space between the two parties.

“Get out of here.” Steve demanded sharply, his tone and the size of his _presence_ far larger and more confident than his stature should’ve allowed.

The other Alpha gave Bucky a lingering glare but it wasn’t worth fighting another Alpha over (even one as scrawny as Steve) when he didn’t even WANT the prize other than to teach him what was what.

“How’d this happen?” Steve asked once they’d gone and he held his hand out for Buck to help him up. Bucky had a bruised cheek and a split lip but honestly he looked invigorated, “They threw my smokes on the ground!”

“That’s rude.” Steve wheezed. Bucky chuckled and patted his shoulder, “Thanks for the backup but you’re supposed to be at home resting.”

“I had a feeling.” Stevie admitted, “You looked ready to take off when I got home.”

Buck grinned, Steve knew him all too well, and they got Steve’s meds and headed home. There, Buck got Steve situated on the couch and offered him out his carefully counted pills, “You ought to eat too.” he added firmly.

“First come sit.” Steve demanded and Buck found he didn’t want to argue. He sat obligingly and Steve twisted where he was and touched Bucky’s lip gingerly, “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you.” Buck teased, though he tilted his head into Steve’s hand.

“Yeah, maybe you ought to be punished for that stunt.” Steve bounced his brows and Bucky huffed, “Bend me over your knee?”

“No.” Steve decided firmly, “Over the couch. Get up.” Buck’s lips twitched but he stood obediently, “Take off your clothes.” Steve partially wanted to make sure Buck wasn’t hiding any other bruises, sue him.

Bucky stripped off his shirt, casting it aside onto the small coffee table he’d built himself. His chest was broad and lean with a soft peppering of dark hair-- He ought to have been softer and more full like a proper Omega and Steve regretted, not for the first time, not being able to take better care of Buck.

The bottom half was discarded next- much like the rest of him, Buck was built solid and powerful, the way Steve probably ought to have been. Buck wasn’t vain but he wasn’t shy, either, standing with a lazy confidence that he’d certainly earned over the years. Steve shivered at the mere sight of him - it didn’t matter how many times he’d seen his Omega before.

“Gosh, look at you. You’re perfect, you know that?” Stevie grinned his proud, toothy grin. Bucky chuckled with amusement, smug, “Yeah I know. You were going to bend me over…?” he prompted with an arched brow.

“Yes. On the couch. Yeah facing-- no the other way, on your knees.” Steve bossed Bucky around until he was draped over the arm of the couch, his ass in the air. He was only half hard but Steve could already smell his enticing slick, all too eager for his Alpha to take him in hand.

“Touch yourself.” Steve directed as he started to strip himself.

“Am I going to have to do all of the work?” Buck mused, glancing down between his propped elbows at Steve who gave him a glare, “Just do it.”

Bucky smiled, though, and he reached to stroke himself slowly, pointedly.

“No, no, finger yourself.” Steve corrected, reaching to give one of Buck’s cheeks a firm squeeze, his fingers grazed over the slick hole and his hand traded with Buck’s. Bucky drew a stuttery breath as Steve’s thin fingers closed over him, his palm warm and soft and Buck slid two of his fingers into himself with ease.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Open up for me.” Steve swiped his thumb over the tip of Bucky’s cock once before he drew back to watch, shucking his own pants in an eager, impatient motion that nearly had him tripping on the floor. Buck was oblivious to Steve’s near-tumble, his eyes closed and his fingers deep inside of himself, twisting and stretching and imagining the pleasure that was to come.

“Shoot I wanted to make a night of this but I dunno if I can.” Steve admitted, his hand working himself up in rapid, eager strokes. Buck’s eyes opened and he tilted his head to look over his shoulders, “Don’t make me wait.” he requested softly.

“Oh I won’t sweetheart.” Steve assured breathlessly and he patted Bucky’s hip before he ducked down to kneel beside the couch, tucking his head beneath Bucky. Buck startled when he felt Steve’s mouth on him but he was moaning heavily a second later, throbbing against the heat of Steve’s eager tongue. Steve tried to swallow him deep but wound up gagging and had to pull off for breath, chuckling a bit at the size of Buck which they’d both observed jokingly on various occasions seemed like a waste, considering.

“Please.” Buck gasped, three fingers knuckle deep by now, his slick dripping down his leg. Steve moved to give Buck’s bruised lips a gentle kiss, “I’ve got you.” he assured Bucky before he scampered back behind him, “That’s good. You did good.” he touched Bucky’s wrist and the Omega pulled his fingers free. Before he could put his hand back beneath him, though, Steve gripped his wrist and turned it so that Buck’s hand gripped his cock, slicking him up.

Steve wasn’t big, not even compared to Bucky, but he was certainly _enough_ and his knot was already starting to thicken at the base of his cock. Bucky shuddered and Steve had to brush his hand away when he got over-eager, “Okay, alright, here you are--” he gripped Bucky’s hips and eased his head in- Buck was so slick and starved for him that there was little resistance.

“Hard. Please.” Buck pleaded, his head bowed between his broad shoulders, his voice thick with desire. The scent of his need was like a high to Steve, who sank into his heavenly heat- the perfect tightness to hug his needy cock, “Yeah.” Steve agreed stupidly, “Okay.”

It often went that way- Steve trying to maintain his footing as the head of the operation while Bucky slowly but surely overcame him with soft demands until Steve was being coiled around Bucky’s little finger.

Steve picked up a quick tempo, for now his knot slid in and out of Buck, a perfect stretch with just the edge of pain that had Bucky keening and moaning with every stroke. Steve’s hands roved over his Omega possessively, stroking the flat of his back and his powerful thighs and up his sides and gripping his shoulders like he couldn’t get enough. He could never get enough.

“Ah!” Buck cried out, his voice a mixture of pain and delight as Steve’ knot began to swell further, bumping against Buck’s tight ring of muscle that refused to be as accommodating to such a size.

“Here you are, sweetheart, here you go--” Steve mumbled, his voice almost dazed in the heat of his lust. His hand slid around Buck’s hip to stroke him quickly. Steve’s hips pumped more quickly as the edge of his pleasure steadily bore down on him- his knot was thick and heavy and more importantly _cold_ and _unconstricted_.

Bucky was trembling, his back arched with an unconscious effort to give Steve better access, a myriad of pleas tumbling off of his lips in rapid succession, coming out as more of a prayer than anything, every bump of Steve’s unsatisfied knot against him with a blazing pulse of heat to Bucky’s ever-pressuring core that demanded to be released.

Finally, with a lionesque growl of triumph, Steve’s hips slammed home hard and there was the sharp pain and blinding pressure of his knot filling Bucky so perfectly and thoroughly. He spilled onto the couch, over Steve’s now-unmoving, distracted hand, a sob of relief torn from this throat.

Steve bent over Bucky’s back his hips still jerking slightly as he pulsed to fill Bucky to the brim. The motion tugged at Bucky who whined and adjusted his knees a little to take some pressure off. Steve mumbled his apologies and tried to still himself, the blissful afterglow already making him sleepy.

They managed to maneuver a bit with minimal discomfort for Buck, who was similarly sluggish in the aftermath, and soon were laying on the opposite side of the couch, their cheeks pillowed on the arm rest with Steve’s thin arm holding Bucky’s waist and pinning him firmly to his own lap, “I’ve got you.” he mumbled to the back of Bucky’s neck- a smooth, perfect neck without the mark of possession yet. One day, Steve promised himself, one day he’d be the person that could fatten Bucky up and keep him safe from people like those jerks in town. Then he’d make Bucky properly his. Until then, Steve smiled sleepily where he was, and twitched deep inside of his Omega, making Bucky hum contentedly.


	7. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bucky steal a moment for intimacy in their busy, family life.

Tony’s hands propped on his husband’s waist, the soft fabric of Bucky’s shirt gentle against his calloused palms.

“You’re home early.” Bucky observed, not at all startled despite Tony’s attempt at stealth.

“Thought I’d take it easy. It’s a long weekend after all. Also how did you hear me? I was so quiet!” Tony laughed and pressed his lips to the soft skin behind Bucky’s ear. He smelled like dirt and a bit like campfire that lingered on his jeans from the festivities the night before. His hair was clean and smelled like Tony’s shampoo which meant Bucky was out but he hadn’t bothered to get more (at least he wasn’t using hand-soap again like Tony had caught him doing once.)

“You’re the loudest person in any room.” Bucky said in a fond tone that betrayed any insinuation of an insult.

“I hope by loudest you mean sexiest.” Tony said sagely and planted his hands on the counter on either side of Bucky so he could grind against his ass.

Bucky chuckled and tilted his head back, his hands still almost elbow deep in the sudsy dish water that filled the double sink. The back of his head rested on Tony’s shoulder and gave Tony ample access to kiss a path along Bucky’s pulse. Tony’s hands slid together to bump into Bucky’s waist again and then he didn’t waste time slipping a hand into his pants to grope him teasingly. Buck had been soft but it only took a second of contact for him to start to harden beneath the affection and he let out a heady sigh of anticipation.

A shriek from the back yard punctuated the moment of quiet intimacy. The window over the sink was open and a slight breeze was billowing through, ruffling the curtains. Bucky cracked open an eye, “They’ve been playing super heroes all day.”

“As they should be. It’s the summer.” Tony tilted his head to rest his cheek against Buck’s before he straightened with a sigh and removed his hand as the loud patter of feet thumping through the back door at breakneck speed heralded the final death knell to any possibility of _actual_ intimacy.

“Dad!” Oscar barked happily, “I thought you weren’t gonna be home until dinner!”

“DAAAAADDY!” Oscar’s little sister came whipping around him in a blur of pure bliss and hurdled her little body into Tony’s legs.

“Woah slow down, Phoebe.” Tony said without any bite. Bucky said from the sink, “Why don’t you take dad outside and show him what you want to add to the treehouse?”

Tony had been designing and building a treehouse for the Dynamic Duo for a few weeks now and the two of them had been adding their two cents since school had gotten out two weeks ago. Oscar wanted to add an observation tower so he could put a telescope at the top of the tree and watch the stars which he’d had a whole module on in grade two this year and had been obsessed with ever since. Phoebe, who was about to turn six, had asked for an elevator so she could bring her pony up the tree. 

Of course Tony was wrapped around both of their little fingers at the same time and he bent over backward to make any and everything happen for them. Bucky teased Tony that the treehouse was going to wind up bigger than their _actual_ house which was a sprawling bungalow on a beautiful plot of land away from the hustle and bustle of the city but not too long of a commute for Tony (who had the privilege benefit of an Iron Man suit for when he wanted to zip into and out of work.)

They worked in the yard, Oscar solemnly holding wood for Tony and Phoebe retrieving tools as requested from the nearby shed while Bucky looked on, fond and endeared by the happy family unit.

The bliss only lasted so long- as was customary in most households- and by dinner Phoebe was crying about her chicken nuggets while Oscar was scowling over the fact that he wasn’t getting a month’s advance on his allowance so he could splurge on a new computer game.

By the time they had ushered both of them to bed, Bucky was folding a basket of laundry and Tony pecked him on the cheek, harried, “I have like twenty minutes of work then I’ll be back up?” Buck turned and smiled at him, “Alright, I’ll clear the bed for more important things.” He promised, nodding his head to the laundry.

When Tony got back upstairs (nearly an hour later, his bad) it was only to find Bucky stretched out and asleep beside the folded piles of tiny pants with holes in the knees and tee shirts with space ships and characters from popular movies. He’d managed to fold it all, at least. Tony fixed up the bed and set the folding aside before he started to tug Bucky’s clothes off and tried lipping at his mouth, stroking his fingers across every inch of bared skin. Bucky roused groggily and squinted at Tony in the dark of their room, “Time s’it?” he wondered as he kicked his pants off and wriggled toward the pillows.

Tony chuckled and sighed, stretching out on his own side of the bed, “Time for sleep. Sorry I went late.”

“S’okay.” Buck’s hand patted Tony’s chest, the last thing he did before he was snoring.

The next morning Buck tried to make up for it. Tony woke to his cock wrapped in wet heat and for a second he was blearily confused. Bucky mumbled a morning greeting, though it sounded like nonsense with his mouth so full, and Tony groaned out a laugh, lifting the sheets to smile tiredly but happily down at Bucky who was buried beneath them with his lips fixed around Tony.

Bucky smiled and Tony said, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Buck snorted and Tony couldn’t deny that the way Buck’s mouth flexed with the action felt good. He dropped the sheet with a moan and had to grip the blankets as Bucky began a rapid bobbing, his throat constricting around Tony every stroke.

Heat began to pool behind Tony’s navel and he sucked in a few rapid breaths just as the door to the bedroom slammed open, “Oscar won’t let me watch the dragon show!” Phoebe announced irritably as she scrambled at the corner of the king sized bed, trying to climb up.

Buck had frozen under the covers and then pulled off of Tony’s almost-satisfied-cock. He tucked Tony’s pants back up and shimmied out of the covers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Watch it in your own room.” Bucky suggested, shooting Tony an apologetic look.

“I’m HUNGRY can we have waffles?” she changed gears like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower in a field, driving at a hundred miles an hour in every direction.

Tony laughed and stretched and nodded, “You go get me the eggs and milk out and I’ll come down and make my famous waffles.”

“DAAAAAADDY.” Oscar called from downstairs, “My game is frozen!”

Bucky moaned, having planned to finish his job when Phoebe left and sat up, “Alright, we’re up.”

It was later that afternoon, after Tony had made waffles and Bucky had figured out Oscar’s game (he wasn’t the tech savvy person in the family but he was a quick learner and Tony was a patient teacher) that Tony was, not surprisingly, getting some work done in his basement office. He’d tried for a long time to keep work out of the home but Bucky had eventually suggested he set up an office so he could be productive when he wanted and around so they could reach out to him.

Tony came up to get a snack and found the house oddly quiet. He sauntered out to the garage where Bucky was predictably working on some handmade wooden furniture. He was bent over a table and gently carving a floral pattern into the leg of a stool when.

“Wow, that’s some nice wood.” Tony drawled from the doorway.

Buck glanced back at him with a chuckle, “You’re terrible. How do you combine dad jokes with innuendos?”

“It’s easy, really, you see a dad you want to--” he glanced over his shoulder to make sure there really were no ears listening then finished, “Fuck and you mash the two together.”

He moved through the workshop, wood dust billowing up around his feet. Buck set what he was doing aside and met Tony with his arms open, “Oscar went to John’s and Phoebe is at Danielle’s. They’re having sleepovers.” he sounded smug.

“How’d you wrangle that?” Tony asked with amusement, his hands immediately moving to the waistband of Bucky’s pants to make short work of the button and fly.

“I’m driving carpool all next week.” Bucky laughed and ducked his head to give Tony a solid, deep kiss. It was only a moment before Tony had taken Bucky in hand with quick, impatient strokes and Bucky had backed Tony against a work table and then hoisted him up onto it. 

Bucky’s hands roved up under Tony’s shirt, his palms rough and calloused and needy for Tony’s skin, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” Bucky rumbled against Tony’s mouth.

Their kissing began slow and affectionate-- the intimate dance between two mouths that have explored one another so well that it’s no longer a mapping of surfaces but a worshipping. It didn’t take long for desire to steamroll over intimacy, however, and Tony was eagerly pressing a packet of lube he’d had the forethought to bring with him out to the workshop (wishful thinking at the time had proved very fortunate.) Bucky wasted no time ripping it open and slicking himself up, “You’re going to get slivers.” he warned with a faint smirk as he tugged Tony down off the counter and turned him around, nipping at his jaw and the back of his neck as he bent him over it.

“Worth it.” Tony assured him breathlessly, then added with impatience, “C’mon, I’ve been waiting all day.”

“That’s my line.” Bucky admonished as slick fingers worked Tony open without patience.

Between the children and their lingering responsibilities with the Avengers (though Tony was the primary representative there, Bucky was only ever called in when they were desperate, having essentially retired when they’d had Oscar) moments for satisfying their desires for one another were few and far between.

When Bucky was finally sinking into Tony it was like coming home after a long trip and he let out a guttural moan of satisfaction, “You feel so good. Tony, sweetheart--” Bucky mumbled against the back of Tony’s neck, having curled over him when he bottomed out. 

“If you don’t stop trying to sweet talk me and fuck me through this table I’m going to-- Ah!” Tony’s threat was interrupted by a sharp thrust and Bucky’s hips slammed home a few more pointed times, “I’m going to make you a candle-- light dinner tonight and you’re-- going to love every-- minute-- of it.” Bucky ‘threatened’ right back between grunting thrusts that had Tony keening against the surface of the table.

“I’ll blow you under the table.” Tony warned as he shifted up to one elbow so he could reach for himself, stroking rapidly as though trying to race Bucky to the finish. Buck noticed and his hands on Tony’s waist gripped more tightly so he could pick up his pace, not wanting to be outdone. They came almost in tandem, Tony spilling onto the floor and Bucky filling him with a groan of ecstasy. They stilled, panting against the table and Tony asked, “Did you actually threaten me with a romantic dinner?”

“Yes, and I’m holding you to _your_ threat.” Buck laughed.


	8. Angry/Hate Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gives into his carnal desires and lets Wade have the prize he's been hankering after for months; Peter's ass.

“Stop calling me that!” Peter rounded on Deadpool with a glare that wasn’t nearly as visible beneath his mask as Deadpool’s, which blatantly showed an impish aghast.

“I thought you liked that nickname!” Deadpool had managed, by some miracle, to ambush Spider-Man on the roof of a building he’d just defended from some shady vandals who’d been spraying some imaginatively large penises on the wall.

“I’m not your baby.” Peter retorted.

Wade was distracted by the paintings, cocking his head over the edge of the building to eye them, “Think they were compensating for something?” 

“Probably.” he muttered irritably turning to go.

“Hey wait! We just started this chapter!” Deadpool sprang in front of Peter with a grin, “Don’t you wanna patrol together?”

“No.” Peter tried to push past him, and he could have, though he was used to pulling his punches and Wade was a wall of muscle. He thought, not for the first time, about how powerful Deadpool’s thick arms must have been. How broad his chest was and well-muscled his-- well, his everything was.

Peter wondered if it was natural for a person to find their enemy so attractive or if his typically-compassionate mind was grasping at redeeming straws for the merc with a mouth. A mouth that wouldn’t stop running, even as Peter managed to brush past him- sharing far too much friction in their body contact than Peter was admittedly comfortable with.

“That ass would make a nun do a double take.” Deadpool informed him, not for the first time. Peter was pretty sure Wade had memorized his ass. Which was fair, because Peter certainly had memorized Wade’s. Mostly because he looked forward to seeing him walk away.

“Stop it. Why are you so obsessed?” Peter didn’t usually react to Wade’s flirtations- he knew it just encouraged him. Every word Peter spoke in response was like a gallon of fuel on Wade’s horny fire.

“I’d be crazy _not_ to be obsessed, baby boy.” Wade laughed.

Peter snapped, spinning to shove Wade against the nearby brick wall. He might have felt bad about it except that Wade said, “How’d you know I like it rough, baby boy?” Peter knew he was just using the name now to rile him up and he could see the smug, satisfied expression in Deadpool’s mask.

He wondered what lust looked like on the mask. If pleasure was so easily expressed as his facetiousness.

“I mean, I _am_ crazy. In general, not just about your ass. But mostly about your ass.” Deadpool continued gabbing as Peter decided what the hell he was doing-- somehow he’d wound up with his hands on Deadpool’s arms, pinning him against the bricks.

“What do you _want_ from me?” Peter asked irritably, not backing up like maybe he could intimidate Wade into leaving him alone. The merc had hounded him for months, constantly complimenting him and irritating him and even getting in his way. Peter had tried really hard to be compassionate at first but it quickly grew old- you could only turn your cheek so many times before it was just self-flagellation. But Wade kept it up. Even after Peter had shoved him off a bridge once. Even after Peter had left him webbed to a wall in an alleyway.

He was relentless. Maybe part of Peter liked that. Liked being pursued obsessively. Was it complimentary? Peter realized he was still holding Wade’s arms, the girth of his biceps impressive and solid beneath his hyper-sensitive palms, even through the fabric of his suit.

“You, Spidey.” Wade drawled, for a moment it almost sounded sweet, but then Deadpool rallied, “I want that sweet ass of yours riding my cock like a broke stripper rides a greasy pole.”

“You’re disgusting.” Peter recoiled slightly but he felt his foot bump against Wade’s.

“Maybe you like that.” Wade challenged, finally daring to lift his hands, he brushed his fingers against Peter’s elbows then ghosted against his sides, “You’re so perfect and pure, like a goddamn snow angel. Maybe you need a little dirtying up.”

“No.” Peter heard himself denying vehemently, though his cock was beginning to have other ideas, the mere ghost of Wade’s metaphorically blood-stained gloves.

“Slum it with me, Baby Boy.” Deadpool’s voice had lowered a register and his hands gripped Peter’s hips with an abrupt forcefulness that Peter’s spidey-senses somehow hadn’t warned him of. He found himself ground against Deadpool, greeted by a beast of a cock straining against Wade’s pants, bumping against Peter’s own, growing erection.

He sucked in a ragged gasp, disgusted but intrigued despite himself, “Why would I ever have sex with you?” 

“Because it’s naughty.” Wade twisted and Peter let himself trade places with Wade, pinned against the bricks only by his own allowance - they both knew he far outmatched Wade when it came to brute force, “And my little spidey has been far too good for far too long. Live a little. The itsy-bitsy spider got fucked on a rooftop and enjoyed it.” Wade sang as he ground into Peter, his mouth against Peter’s ear. His breath was hot and the gravel in his voice made Peter’s stomach flip and drop like he was on a roller coaster.

“Fuck.” he whispered, hating himself for how he arched into Wade’s indomitable heat. 

“Ooh!” Wade squealed and drew back, “If I wasn’t about to fuck you through a brick wall I’d have warned you about ratings.”

Peter wanted to ask what the hell he was talking about but honestly it seemed unimportant at the moment. He gripped Wade’s waistband, deciding that he had to get this out of his system. One quick fuck and he could be rid of Wade. Deadpool would have what he wanted and Spider-Man could stop wondering what his cock looked like, felt like, tasted like-- He could get on with his life.

Wade let out a low hum of approval and tilted his torso back a bit to give Peter better access. He managed to get the zipper down and the button open but Wade stopped him as he was reaching in, “Turn around.” he demanded firmly.

“You’re not in charge of this.” Peter snapped defiantly, looking up at the merc with a glare.

“Turn around and I’ll give you everything you want.” Wade’s tone changed back to a purr, predatory and enticing at once.

“I want to be rid of you.” Peter bit off but he did turn around, wishing he could’ve seen what he was sure was a very, very impressive cock. Wade had always been strange about being seen, not that people didn’t know who he was- he wasn’t masked in the way Peter was, identity a secret. Peter knew that he was scarred but he’d never seen Wade without a full getup.

He got the chance to feel it at least, Wade pinned Peter to the wall from behind, pressing up against him with all of his impressive weight, and he yanked at Peter’s glove until it fell to the gravel-top roof. Peter’s hand tucked back and was greeted with the largest cock he’d ever felt. He let out a gasp of surprise, despite himself, and some alarm as he experimentally stroked up and down once. There was an odd texture to it but by now he didn’t dare turn around to look, way too far down this path to have it unceremoniously stopped.

“Baby soft hands.” Wade observed, “Touch me like you’re not a virgin, Baby Boy.” 

“I’m not a virgin.” Peter protested as he jerked Wade off a little more quickly- which honestly was a big effort from this angle.

“Might as well be.” Wade said cheerfully as he kicked Peter’s feet apart and nuzzled against the side of his neck.

“Just shut up and get on with it.” Peter growled, squeezing Wade firmly, this was already treading on dangerous ground and he didn’t want to drag it out any further.

“You’re the boss, sweetheart.” Wade returned in a low murmur, his hips jerking into Peter’s grip eagerly. He managed to find the subtle opening to Spider-Man’s suit and Peter felt the chill of cold air against his bare skin as it was tugged halfway down his thighs, “Like unwrapping a goddamn Christmas present. Better than Christmas. Chrisbirthdaestermas.” 

Peter almost jumped when he felt a cool liquid being poured over his hand and Wade’s cock at once. It quickened his stroking, the lube slipping between his fingers and easing the glide of his palm against the monster length of Wade’s erection.

“You came with _lube_?” Peter rasped incredulously.

“I’m always prepared, boy scout.” Wade informed him glibly as he palmed Peter’s ass with two gloved hands. He squeezed and pulled them slightly apart, making Peter squirm a little at the vulnerability of it. Peter’s dick had different ideas, twitching and bobbing in the cool air at the exposure.

Wade’s ungloved finger, slick, invaded Peter without warning and he yelped, grinding his cheek against the bricks. He might have complained but honestly Wade was going to need a couple more to get him ready for the beast that was in Peter’s hand.

“I know we’re well past the point,” Wade began lazily as he finger-fucked Peter with a pointed determination, “But I do want to hear you say it, Baby Boy.”

“Stop calling me that!” Peter shifted his shoulder to jerk back against Wade, met with a firm resistance he jostled just enough to make his displeasure known before leaning back against the wall, and he begrudgingly asked, “Say what?”

Wade slipped in a second finger without warning and Peter grunted, feeling himself stretch, his cock straining and needy, “Say that you want me to fuck you into oblivion. Say you want my dirty cock in your perfect hole.”

“What? No! I’m not saying that.” Peter barked, aghast.

Abruptly, Wade’s fingers slipped free of Peter. Peter moaned with dismay at the sudden void inside of him, “You’re such an asshole.” he complained, “I hate you.”

“And I _love_ a good hate fuck, Baby boy. You know the magic words.” Wade’s voice was hot against Peter’s ear again and he felt a strangled noise of protest bubble up his throat. Wade reached around with his slickened fingers and stroked Peter’s neglected cock with the gentlest touch.

“Fuck! Fuck.” Peter rasped out, barely above a whisper, “I want it. Fuck you, I want your-- cock.”

“Where do you want it, my little snow angel spider-baby?” Wade babbled against Peter’s ear, the friction of his hand against Peter’s aching cock increasing by way of reward.

“In me.” Peter spat out, “I want it in me.” then, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, he continued, “Stretching me. Fuck you’re huge.” he didn’t think he’d sworn this often in such a small period of time in all his life but something about Wade tore the ugly out of Peter.

“Yes I am.” Wade agreed smugly. His thumb swiped the precum off the tip of Peter’s hungry cock then his hand abandoned Peter to the cold again, only to squeeze Peter’s bare cheek and then resumed his earlier preparations. Peter’s arm didn’t grow tired but he wondered how long Wade could stand being jerked off before he was close- maybe Peter wasn’t doing a good job of it.

He adjusted his grip slightly, just in time for Wade to force in a third finger and make Peter groan, “C’mon, ah, jeez, c’mon Wa-- Deadpool.”

“It’s gonna hurt.” Wade warned darkly, his voice was thick and Peter was finally rewarded with some evidence (other than the very-hard-cock in his hand) that he had any effect on Wade whatsoever.

“Yeah I know. I want it.” Peter agreed, his hand speeding up as though to express that more vehemently, “Fill me up.” just to get it over with. Right? Right.

Deadpool growled and he pushed Peter’s hand away-- Peter practically sobbed with anticipation and he traded Wade’s cock for his own, which was much more suitably sized for his hand.

Wade’s fingers were replaced with the tip of his scarred cock, too-big even with Wade’s ample preparation, and Peter’s hand faltered on his cock, all of his focus required to breathe and relax against the intrusion.

“Wait-- wait.” Peter requested, his voice wavering with a trickle of pain against Wade’s press. To his credit, Deadpool stopped, though his breath was heavy and dangerous against Peter’s ear, “Take your time.” he growled, his tone of near-breaking at odds with the generous words.

Peter nodded a moment later, “Okay. Fuck. Okay.” his hand jerked once or twice, trying to find his rhythm again only to stop as Wade inched further in. He was bigger than Peter had imagined in every conceivable way and Peter had never been so full. So perfectly stretched.

He let out a guttural moan as he felt the head of Wade’s cock brush against his prostate, electricity thrilling through him and coiling a threatening heat in his gut, “This is-- not-- through a wall.” Peter panted shakily, adjusting his feet slightly to widen them, trying to ease Wade’s slow advance.

Wade couldn’t answer, too focused on forcing himself to slow when he so clearly wanted to drill Peter like a perfect little ragdoll. He did, though, keep it slow. Soon enough he was bottomed out and Peter let out a breath of relief, stuffed to the brink of his limits.

“I don’t wanna break my baby spider.” Wade managed, his voice raspy and strained.

“I won’t break.” Peter assured him, “You wanted my ass, so here it is. Fuck my ass, Deadpool.”

“Call me Wade.” Deadpool demanded abruptly, adjusting his own feet and by some miracle it felt like he was even bigger inside of Peter.

“What?” Peter choked.

“You heard me.” Deadpool grunted, his hands pawing up and down Peter’s sides and over his thighs, everywhere but where Peter wanted them.

“Fuck me.” Peter demanded again but Wade stilled and the world stilled with him and Peter let out a moan of defeat, “Fuck me, Wade.”

“Okay.” Wade agreed without ceremony and he was suddenly drawing back, leaving Peter feeling hollow only to be abruptly and gloriously filled again with a return stroke that left Peter dizzy. He let out a choked yelp of pain-fuelled pleasure and ground his brow against the brick wall, his hands bracing himself against the powerful onslaught of Wade’s bestial fucking.

He could hear himself crying out, making sounds he barely recognized as Wade punished his hole with a rutting that Peter couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams (and, fuck him, he _had_ dreamed of this.) He was pretty sure he was about to come without even being touched- far too delirious on Wade’s cock to even be conscious enough to touch himself- when Wade’s hand provided the blessing for him.__

_ _“You ready to come, Baby Boy?” something about the name, the name that had been digging under Peter’s skin for months was what did it. His balls tightened and he jerked his head in an anxious nod, “Come for me.” Wade demanded and Peter did, spilling with a broken cry of relief. Wade milked him through it gently then his hand abandoned Peter to grip his hips, pounding into Peter on the backstretch of his endurance, “Ah my perfect baby spider angel, you’re tighter than a nun on Easter Sunday.”_ _

_ _“Y’already used-- ahh-- a nun joke.” Peter pointed out, blissed and still moaning over every over-stimulating stroke._ _

_ _“I stand-- by it--” Wade managed before he was gasping and slamming deep once more, shuddering with relief as he came._ _

_ _Peter was panting but began to recover quickly- coming to his senses about this ridiculous encounter. He still had Wade’s massive cock in his ass, though he could feel it softening as the blissful edges of after-glow began to ebb. _ _

_ _“Shit.” Wade moaned as he pulled out and fumbled to tie off a condom which he tossed aside._ _

_ _“That’s disgusting.” Peter muttered as he jerked away and pulled up his pants, reaching behind him to fasten up his suit with a glare. _ _

_ _Wade had turned slightly to hide himself as he stuffed his still-softening cock back into his pants, “No you, dirty boy.” he sing-songed._ _

_ _Peter groaned and grabbed up the condom with his finger-tips, not willing to leave it there even if Wade was going to, “Goodbye, Wade.” he regretted not calling him Deadpool the instant Wade turned to grin at Peter through his mask, “Bye, Baby Boy.” he leaned in, snatched the garbage out of Peter’s hand and patted his ass before he swung over the edge of the roof and landed with a clang on the fire escape._ _

_ _Peter had just so many regrets._ _


	9. Drunk Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade gives Peter a drunken gift for his twenty-first birthday.

He’d never been drunk before and he couldn’t say that he minded it. It dulled everything- the sounds that were always drilling into him at a fever pitch, the movement of people around him wasn’t so spastic, smells were hazier and even his skin felt woozy. Peter had gotten used to the hyper-stimulation that his powers offered but this was… it was nice.

He almost hated to admit it, with Deadpool looking so damn smug on the other side of the couch. Somehow he’d gotten it onto the roof of this building overlooking the river. Peter figured it must have been some sort of rigged up pulley system. He could’ve gotten it up himself but Wade hadn’t asked him to. He’d just issued Peter an invitation to a private birthday party.

“How did you get this up here?” Peter finally just asked, patting the stained, lumpy pillow in his lap. He’d been resting his beer on it- the seventh one of the hour.

“Oh it was a prefabbed set.” Deadpool waved his hand dismissively and grinned beneath this mask, so blatant and tangible that Peter wondered if it was a living thing plastered to Wade’s face.

He’d never seen Wade’s face, though he’d seen his mouth when he’d rolled his mask up now and then- they’d shared more meals than Peter could count by this point. Usually punctuated by Wade’s merciless flirting.

Peter had also gotten used to answers like that, “Oh right.” he snorted and swirled his bottle which was almost empty. Wade passed him a new one without prompting- Peter essentially needed to drink them one after another to retain the buzz.

“You planned this.” Peter accused with a chuckle as he took the beer.

“Well, yeah, Baby Boy, all the best birthday surprises have a bit of forethought.” Wade snorted.

“I never told you when my birthday was.” Peter pointed out.

Wade pointed at the sky, “Wow look a satellite.”

Peter blinked up at the sky, easily distracted. Wade was drunk too, Peter could tell, but he’d obviously done it before. At least they were in the same boat when it came to keeping that buzz- Wade must have knocked over a whole entire liquor store with the giant fridge-full of beer and spirits he’d dragged up here.

That was a problem for tomorrow’s Spider-Man. Right now Peter just wanted to be the birthday boy and enjoy this buzz. Enjoy the laziness of it. The heat of Wade’s leg against his own. The way his limbs went jell-o whenever the merc was around. It was like danger only not-- it didn’t prickle his hairs and set him into fight-or-fight (his spidey-senses weren’t fond of the flight option.) It was a spike of adrenaline without the fear-factor added to it.  
It was a different sort of high and Peter leaned into it, “You’re going to be bar-hopping every weekend.” Wade mused as Peter guzzled half the bottle in a swig.

“No way, I’m a terrible dancer.” Peter laughed.

“With that ass? Doesn’t matter.” Deadpool insisted, leaning impossibly closer to clink his bottle against Peter’s.

Peter all but froze, the heat that Deadpool always gave off was nearly suffocating this close. There was so much _wrong_ with Wade and yet-- it was nice. It made that wobbly feeling slink through Peter’s fuzzy limbs again and he leaned unnecessarily back toward Wade.

The merc stilled close, having planned to pull back but froze there when Peter showed that sliver of reciprocation.

He’d never done that before. Wade had complimented every single part of Peter’s anatomy and he’d never taken a compliment or returned it or shown any sign of appreciation. Wade had made overtures of devotion and adoration and even performed grand gestures- all to the blank facade of Spider-Man’s red, black and white mask.

Peter didn’t know what had changed. Maybe it was the liquor- he knew, scientifically, that it loosened one’s inhibitions. He’d always been flattered, he supposed, but Deadpool’s unpredictability and instability had probably played a huge part in his infatuation with Peter. So he’d always taken it with a grain of salt but--

Who cared? Why did it matter? They were here and Wade was so warm and Peter was celebrating and he rarely ever did anything just for himself and-- he bumped his nose against Wade’s when he lurched up to try and kiss him.

Wade hummed, cocking his head where it hovered in front of Peter’s face, “Sloppy spidey, that’s okay, that mouth is still going to be just as tasty.”

Peter parted his lips to protest the lewd suggestion but Wade took the opportunity to brush his lips against Peter’s with a surprising, reverent gentleness.

“Just like I always imagined.” Wade said, then ruined the purity of the moment, “Smooth as a nun at the second coming.”

“What does that even--” Peter stopped himself and seemed to be reconsidering himself for a moment. It was enough for Wade to settle back in his seat, giving up whatever hopes he’d had of accomplishing the pipe-dream of his years of flirting.

Peter drew a breath and then sucked down the rest of the bottle in his hand, “It’s okay, Baby Boy,” Wade was saying as Peter leaned forward to set it down, “I understand- the beast is a different thing up close--” Peter cut off his self-pitying rant by sliding into his lap.

“What--” Wade’s protests died when Peter ducked to press his lips eagerly. Yes, it was sloppy. Yes, it was inexperienced. Yes it was… well basically awful. But it was very _Peter_. Awkward and earnest and passionate and fumbling and endearing.

Wade loved it. It was everything he had ever dreamed. But he broke away just slightly, panting against the intoxicating taste of his perfect Spidey’s mouth, “Baby boy you don’t have to--”

“Stop. Just let me.” Peter shushed him, adjusting his seating in Wade’s lap which made the merc groan. Peter seemed to like that and he tried again, wriggling just a bit. He wanted to taste that moan, though, so he covered Wade’s scarred mouth with his own. They both tasted like a mixture of booze but mostly beer and Peter didn’t even really like the taste but Wade’s mouth was like a drug.

They spent a bit of time there, Peter exploring Wade’s mouth with a unique curiosity, and Wade keeping himself carefully still to allow it and not push Peter past the comfort zone of whatever fuzzy line he was currently crossing.

Eventually they were both hard and Peter was grinding against Wade’s lap unconsciously, his small breaths intensifying into soft moans and eventual groans.

“Alright baby boy,” Wade finally rumbled, his voice dangerously low and tight as though he was holding back a tidal wave by his own sheer force of will.

“Alright yes.” Peter agreed and fumbled a hand between them to grope at Wade. That had NOT been what Wade was saying but his attempt to break this drunken rut up died just instantly when Peter touched him- even through the leather.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Wade ground out, sounding almost like a snarl. It made a shiver slide down Peter’s spine and he let out a soft sound of need, “Yeah. You. I want you.” Peter was surprised to find that he sincerely meant it.

Wade seemed frozen for a beat but then he moved like a tornado, yanking at Peter’s suit with a feverish demand that Peter only met in kind. They didn’t have time or the wherewithal to get further than absolutely necessary in their stripping, the skin of Peter’s palm against Wade’s surprisingly textured cock was an electric jolt.

Wade would have kept it to simple hand-jobs but Peter was determined as hell. He made a mental note (that he was drunkenly sure to forget) to congratulate Wade for being prepared when he whipped out a condom and lube, “Utility belt. You _know_ Batman gets a shit ton of tail.” Wade had muttered breathlessly while his slick fingers had pressed lightly into Peter.

“What?” Peter gasped and writhed on Wade’s fingers, his own hands mercilessly keeping Wade on edge.

“Nothing, nothing, just breathe, yes wow you’re so tight you’re perfect, my perfect little spider.” Wade shushed him with slopped kisses all over Peter’s exposed face- both of their masks rolled just up to their noses.

“Please please please.” Peter chanted, fucking himself on Wade’s fingers with a lewd eagerness he barely recognized in himself.

“I’m gonna split you in half.” Wade warned Peter, wanting to prep him longer but Peter took it a very different way, “Yes. Please.” his teeth tugged on Wade’s scarred lip and dragged across his jaw and his hands sped up on Wade’s monster cock, Peter’s sluggish imagination could only dream of being destroyed by.

“Tomorrow’s problem?” Wade rasped out with half of a laugh, his mind hooked too tightly on the heat and friction being provided by Peter’s hands to properly surrender to humour. He forced Peter to wait a finger longer before he was lifting him up. Being so light and strong worked incredibly well in Peter’s favour as Wade finally positioned him in preparation for being impaled, “Don’t keep making me wait.” Peter protested as Wade paused.

“The boy who cried cock.” Wade drawled before he lowered Peter down.

Honestly he was not remotely prepared. The stretch was incredible and breath-stealing and he had to stop, the slightest resistance of his legs flexing against Wade’s firm hand more than enough for Wade to stop, “You alright, cowboy?”

“Yeah, yeah just-- yeah.” Peter panted in little puffs before he resumed his descent, gasping with every centimeter. Finally, after an agonizing slide that threatened to sober Peter up properly, he was seated.

“Need a minute?” Wade asked, his voice oddly thin and serious, and Peter pressed his face briefly to Wade’s throat before he shook his head and lifted himself up, his lithe legs trembling a bit but from pleasure, not exertion.

Peter could tell that Wade was on the edge already and he tilted his head to request a sloppy, inaccurate kiss as he began to ride Wade as the sparkly edges of his buzz began to fade. Peter chased them eagerly and he began to feel every movement and every breeze and every bump of Wade’s cock against his prostate with crystal clarity. His keening became more sharp even in his own ears and the sudden grip of Wade’s ungloved hand around his aching, needy cock was the final stimulation he needed to be yanked over the edge with a near-startled cry.

“That’s it, that’s so perfect, look at you--” Wade babbled praises as he gently nursed the orgasm out of his perfect little Spidey and when he was a puddle on Wade’s lap he twitched and shifted his hands beneath Peter’s ass, lifting him just slightly.

Peter took the cue and curled over Wade, taking his own weight on his knees and lipped at Wade’s throat by way of silent approval before Wade was abruptly thrusting up into him. It made Peter’s eyes roll back into his head and he let out a series of undignified grunts from somewhere deep inside of him that he hadn’t realized could make such sounds. It felt like every inch of his insides that had just been burned to ash were being revived by a whole new ignition source.

“-- the most perfect sausage casing-- stuff your perfect ass like an Easter turkey-- oh my fuck--” Wade was stringing together nonsense as he fucked up into Peter and then jolted with a spazm as he finally came, an ecstatic twist of his mouth letting out a shuddering gasp of relief.

Peter had a beer pushed into his hand a minute later and he sipped on it tiredly, curled in Wade’s lap with his still-softening cock still inside of him. He _felt_ like an overstuffed sausage casing and, honestly, he liked it.

This was a disaster but that was a problem for tomorrow’s Peter. Right now’s Peter was going to enjoy his birthday and enjoy the perfectly wrong body keeping him warm and a cock he could feel starting to get hard again and stretching him with such a perfect little twinge. Tomorrow he’d go back to boyscout justice but tonight he was just going to be Peter, “Thank you.” he mumbled as he wriggled in Wade’s lap, sucking down more beer.

“You’re welcome Baby Boy- happy fucking birthday.”


	10. Heat Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha Bucky takes care of Omega Wade's surprise heat.

“Alright big guy--” Wade’s voice was strained and pinched and every breath was a shuddering exercise in self control, “You’re gonna want to close your eyes, or maybe get high for this.”

“I’ve seen scars, Wade.” Barnes snarled, his own grip on control quickly loosening with every inhale of Wade’s powerful pheromones, “Changes nothing.”

“Don’t lose your cookies on me. I might take it personally.” Wade’s sense of humour had gone oddly flat in the moment of animalistic desperation. His scarred skin was crawling with a burning heat that was different from his typical every-day pain. This was a heat of need, a fire that was hungry for fuel and refusing to be quenched before being stoked to a brilliant, breath-taking pyre of monstrous lust.

“Strip.” Bucky ground out, the leather on his one glove creaked as his hands balled into fists and his prosthetic groaned in a metallic whine as though in a duet, “Quickly.”

Since Barnes had agreed to take a quick job for SHIELD that had been a bit on the dirty side for the Holy Avengers, he’d run into Deadpool who’d been all too happy to tag along. They weren’t the typical duo but Barnes had had a foot very deeply in Wade’s world for a long time and they had some sort of understanding that bordered on genuine friendship. Buck didn’t really belong with the Avengers and he certainly didn’t belong with Hydra but maybe he could belong somewhere in the middle- in that nebulous in-between where Deadpool lay.

Deadpool being an Omega had gone under most radars somehow, perhaps the heavy stench of [i]Sick[/i] that permeated the air or his conflicting senses of self-preservation and self-destruction had managed to build a big enough front to hide it, but Barnes hadn’t realized the truth of his designation until they’d been stuck waiting for a target together and Wade’s heat had blindsided him.

“This usually doesn’t happen.” he’d tried to laugh it off but as with everything that Wade did, the heat came screaming in turned up to eleven and there was no denying it or pretending it wasn’t there. There was also no time, or apparent desire, for Wade to find a heat hotel.

Barnes wasn’t sure how he usually dealt with them, but it was clear that it wasn’t by finding an Alpha to help him, judging by his extreme reluctance to strip even in the crippling depths of heat.

Eventually, though, Bucky’s Voice was enough to demand Wade’s compliance and his suit began slowly being peeled off of scarred skin. True, Buck had never seen scars quite this extensive, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d seen scars. He’d seen more than most.

Besides, beneath those scars was a powerful, attractive body in perfect, lithe proportions that were well-muscled and practically dumping come-hither pheromones directly into Bucky’s ever-swelling cock.

When Wade was stripped and Bucky was on the verge of fracturing, he manage to grit out, “On the bed.”

By now, Wade’s hesitation was gone- if Barnes was going to vomit after fucking this ugly beast then so be it, at least Wade’s ass would have a knot in it. That was honestly all he cared about at the moment.

Wade clearly wouldn’t need any preparation, he was already leaking slick that dribbled down the inside of his thigh, leaving a glistening trail behind it that sent a shock of lust through Bucky’s already razed system.

Bucky remembered a Rut he’d had while in Hydra and the poor Omega they’d dragged in to satisfy him. He recalled it all now, long after the fact, and it gave him a moment of pause before Wade broke through with a whine, “You going to stare at this Jackson Polluck of an ass or are you going to fuck it, big guy?”

Barnes jerked back to earth with a blink and grunted his reply, thoughts of other moments dissipating like steam off his over-heated mind. He shucked his pants without further thought- the rest of their clothes he could deal with later. Somehow, Deadpool’s mask had remained on but Barnes didn’t care at the moment.

He propped a knee on the bed on the inside of Wade’s calf and his metallic hand gripped one of Wade’s cheeks, firm and solid beneath his hyper-sensitive palm (thanks for that went to one particularly talented Mr Stark.) His other hand, glove removed, moved between Wade’s shoulder blades to push him down to the bed, turning his ass even further up into the air.

The Omega groaned with wanton agreement and he arched his back, trying to seek out what he knew was coming. Buck obliged only a moment later, his hands too busy to help himself aim, it only took a couple heat-mad thrusts to find his goal and sink in without hesitation.

Wade yelped at the sudden and brutal intrusion and for a split second he struggled beneath Bucky’s firm grip, the stretching burn was blissful agony but it only lasted a moment before his pained gasps turned into a lengthy, guttural moan of pleasure, “Fuck. Yes. Give me your knot, big boy, fuck, please.”

Barnes had no intention of drawing this out- the visceral need of Wade’s suffocating pheromones was driving him to a place of feral demand and his hips picked up an immediate, brutal tempo that rocked the bed so hard it began slamming into the wall.

Surely the hotel staff would hear about it but Buck was fairly certain no one was going to interrupt what the whole floor could likely smell by now. He knew from experience that his own Alpha scent was of a particular brand that no one wanted to trifle with.

His knot began to swell quickly, impeding his ability to thrust as deeply as he wanted as it began to bump against the tightness of Wade’s already-stretched hole.

“Fuck-- fuck-- Alpha please.” Wade was gasping out blubbering curses with every too-shallow thrust, a demand inside of him screaming for satisfaction that simply wasn’t there yet, “Get that fucking knot inside of me or--”

Bucky’s hand shifted from Wade’s shoulders to his head and shoved him into the bed, muffling his demands as he shifted his own weight. Wade struggled, arching and thrusting back against Bucky’s furious rhythm, and managed to get his mouth free of the sheets just in time for Buck’s knot to push halfaway in then slip back out, glistening and swollen and throbbing with painful desire, “Noooo-- fuck you-- fuck--” Wade whined and gasped with abject mystery as his body had seized on the brink of relief only to have it snatched away again.

“Don’t-- ask--” Bucky panted, struggling to keep the few fraying strands of himself conscious beneath the suffocating smoke of Wade’s pheromones that blanketed the entirety of his mind, “Tell. Me.”

“Knot me, Alpha, right now.” Wade sputtered immediately, not hesitating for a beat to issue the order that Bucky clearly wanted to hear.

With a great, beastial growl, Bucky’s hands gripped Wade’s hips and he gave one last brutal thrust. Wade let out a howl of pain-filled pleasure, split into in such a perfect, agonizing way. Bucky twitched and rocked their bodies, connected in perfect unison now, as he filled Wade with his seed. Wade whined and shuddered, limp and satisfied beneath the Alpha, having come on the sheets untouched with the ecstasy that was the knot filling him perfectly.

Moments later they were on their side, both having found their breath and recovering while Bucky’s knot still tied them firmly together, “If you have to vomit there’s a garbage over--”

“Shut up, Wade.” Bucky mumbled.

“You don’t have to pretend--” Wade began, but Bucky’s hand had slid up from the shoulder it was draped over and covered Wade’s mouth. It wasn’t actually effective as a gag but the symbollis was enough to stop Wade from talking. A moment later, just as Wade was starting to feel Bucky beginning to slip out of him and the re-building of the heat demanding another round, Bucky’s hand shifted on his mouth and slipped two fingers between Wade’s lips. He could taste his own slick and a saltiness that must have been their sweat and he sucked eagerly with a little moan. His own cock was already hard again against his belly, red and swollen with the cruelty of unrelenting heat that plagued him, and Bucky grumbled, “Shh. I’ve got you, Omega.”

Somehow, Wade knew he did, and for the first time since he could recall, he thought he might just enjoy this heat.


	11. Body Modification/Decoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky marks Wade up during a particularly rough (blood warning) sexession.

“Don’t you dare pull out.” Wade panted, his head thunking back against the understuffed pillow behind his head. Bucky was hugging Wade’s legs to his chest, his back rounded a bit as he hunched over Wade’s scarred, naked body. His chest heaved as he recovered from his own orgasm but he stilled as Wade directed.

“Fuck, big boy, you never fail to impress.” Wade draped a hand over his brow, his own cock was twitching and swollen against his belly, leaking in a silent complaint at being neglected. Bucky was eyeing it but he didn’t touch it- deciding tonight would be a drawn-out treat for Wade.

Some time ago they’d fallen into bed together- an oddly intimate-but-not-romantic relationship that seemed to suit them both very well. They’d become a reciprocal outlet with some depth of understanding for one another. Wade had Peter and Bucky had Steve but here… here they could be their brutal, ugly selves and not feel dirty or gruesome for it. Steve and Peter both deserved better but neither Wade nor Bucky were _better_.

So here they were, providing an outlet.

“Maybe you’re just easy to impress.” Bucky found his voice, adjusting his knees so he could sit more comfortably up against Wade’s ass while he slid Wade’s legs down to wrap around his own waist.

“Don’t be modest, I’m pretty sure you dislocated a kidney with Mr Monster there.” Wade grunted and shimmied his hips- it was effective and Bucky felt himself twitching. There was something to be said for the super-soldier refractory period.

Bucky huffed and smoothed his palms, the metal one cool against Wade’s scarred skin, up to bracket the neglected cock resting painfully, “I’ve never been modest.” he admitted.

“Why would you be, gorgeous?” Wade whined and wriggled again, trying and failing to get friction against his needy erection and, failing that, to entice Bucky into getting harder more quickly.

“I carved my name on a car once.” Bucky admitted abruptly- Wade had become as used to Bucky’s abrupt and disjointed memory recalls as Bucky was to Wade’s nonsensical rambling and manic moods.

“Why’d you do that, sweetheart?” Wade’s voice was soothing-- Bucky had always treated Wade with respect and some odd reserve of compassion when he was in a bad place and Wade reciprocated when he was able.

“He was an asshole, hurt someone I loved. Should’a been more modest about that, probably.” maybe carving his name in the door of the car he’d just vandalized was more prideful than he ought to have been.

“Nah.” Wade told him helpfully, “Leaving your mark on your work is always--” he brightened, “Sexy as fuck.”

“What?” Bucky frowned at him, coming back to himself to blink at Wade.

“It’ll heal.” Wade said almost gleefully as he twisted, grunting as Bucky gripped his hips tightly to keep him from pulling off of Buck’s half-hard cock.

“What will heal?” Bucky asked, his voice a bit more breathless now as he was getting ready for the second round.

“Here.” Wade slapped a little butterfly knife into Bucky’s hand, “Carve your name into me.”

“What? No.” Bucky almost threw the knife but his fingers curled around it.

“You know I like it rough.” Wade bared his teeth at Bucky. He never got it quite as rough as he wanted, or needed, with Peter. Bucky helped with that.

“Carve my name--?” Buck looked lost but he couldn’t deny how hard he was.

“In my fucking chest. Mark me up. I’m an asshole- your asshole. Vandalize me, big boy.” Wade taunted, “You know you want to.”

Bucky wet his lips, his eyes dark with desire. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what compelled him to do something so brutally cruel but he lowered the tip of the blade to Wade’s mottled skin.

Wade sucked in a breath through his teeth, “You better fuck me while you do.” he warned, lifting his hands to grip the rails at the top of the bed as though to restrain himself.

Barnes pressed the tip of the knife in and Wade hissed as blood beaded around the silver blade. He twitched and shifted his hips, making Wade’s hiss lengthen into a moan. It was slow going but it was a prolonged burn that Wade was high off of, positively drunk with every slow, deliberate slice of the blade into his skin. The pain was like a lens that focused every sense to a razor-sharp point. Bucky’s perfect cock slid in and out of Wade’s abused body in slow, rhythmic thrusts between every slice until his name was completed.

B U C K Y

The B was already started to heal up and Wade sucked in an almost sobbing gasp, “Fuck me, fuck me so hard you fucking beast.”

Bucky couldn’t really explain the primal, feral burst of brutality that seized him and, frankly, he didn’t want to. Or have to. That was the beauty of Wade. His hands gripped Wade’s legs with painful force and he folded him in half, the pressure making his name bleed in ugly, red beads across Wade’s broad, muscled chest.

Wade gasped as Bucky’s fucking became more and more brutal, every impact jarring, “Give me a goddamn concussion!” Wade demanded, his cock was weeping with demand and Bucky ordered Wade to hold his own legs up which he did instantly, his hands hooked behind his own knees to keep himself folded like a paper swan- anything Bucky wanted.

Buck’s metal hand steadied Wade’s hip against his brutal onslaught but his other hand slid around Wade’s neglected erection with a near-tenderness that was a stark juxtaposition to his ruthless fucking.

Wade let out a broken sound and he all but flinched against Bucky’s palm. Wade’s ass suffered a non-stop punishing but his cock was treated to a slow, almost reverent friction that was never quite enough. Slow, slow, warm and perfect but a pressure that was just a hairsbreadth off of _enough_ that Wade began to gasp and sob, begging Bucky to let him come.

Bucky waited until his name had healed fully- leaving only the beaded, drying blood mixed with Wade’s desperate sweat above the pink scars that would eventually fade and twist to nothingness on Wade’s body.

Then his hips and his hand met at a rhythm somewhere between their two extremes and Wade finally cried out with relief as strings of come mingled with the blood on his chest in a gruesome display. He clenched tight around Bucky and it was more than enough to tip him over the edge, too, grunting heavily as he came with a few final, shuddering thrusts.

“This. Is. Definitely going to need a graphic warning tag.” Wade panted, still shivering with the waves of lingering pleasure as he came down off the cloud of ecstasy. Bucky huffed without understanding and got up to get a cloth. He cleaned Wade up then climbed into bed with him, hugging him back against Bucky’s own broad, scarred chest, comforted in their collective darkness.


	12. Anonymous Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to a costume party and has impromptu sex with a doppelgänger

Halloween always provided extra problems for Peter on patrol. People liked to vandalize and terrorize under the added comfort of disguise as though the anonymity somehow made them bigger or stronger. Maybe just more stupid.

Suffice it to say he’d had a long week. Halloween had been the night before but even so, people were celebrating into the weekend. There was a big party tonight that Peter had been invited to by his roommate, Harry.

“Everyone will be there, you can hide behind a mask, it’s really the biggest win-win.” he’d told Peter with enthusiasm, “You can be anyone you want.”

As though Peter’s awkward self needed some vast improvement and pretending to be _Thor_ or the like for a night would solve his problems.

He’d of course declined, laughing Harry’s almost-smooth encouragement off. Peter knew what it was like to gain confidence behind a mask, far more than Harry knew. He also knew that parties were a recipe for sensory overload.

Then again, as he was perched on top of a building having just warded off Deadpool dressed in a Wizard-of-Oz monstrosity smashing pumpkins ‘like the kids do!’ he thought he could possibly use a break.

Mr Stark had been telling him that taking breaks and making time to breathe between intense bouts of chivalry were important. Peter had yet to summon the balls to call Mr Stark a stark-raving hypocrite but there was wisdom in the advice- if only Mr Stark took it himself, too.

He didn’t have a costume but he figured he could whip something up or swing into a second-hand store that might still be open.

In the end he wound up dressed in a Pikachu costume that was at least one size too-small with a mask that looked like he was considering robbing a bank or making a cameo in a six year old’s nightmare. It would work, though, and it wasn’t like Peter didn’t have the body to pull off a super-tight costume after almost ten years of Spider-Manning.

The club where the party was had lights beaming out into the night bright and flashing with orange and white and when he got past security he immediately began to regret this decision. The music was so loud it was buzzing through his entire body, people said they could feel the bass of a good song but Peter could feel _every_ part of the music right through his fingertips.

The only thing that stopped him turning heel and leaving was a heavy hand dropping to his shoulder and an oddly attractive baritone saying, “I choose you, Pikachu!”

Peter turned and blinked up into the face of… himself?

“Uhhh…” Peter stalled for a beat, impressed by the detail of the Spider-Man mask the man wore.

“I think your line is _Pika!_” The man grinned and it was wolfish and oddly blatant through the mask and Peter was surprised to find that he felt it in his _groin_.

“Pika?” Peter squeaked, feeling like a teenager all over again- this guy was looking right through him and the way the spandex stretched over his massively broad shoulders and showed off every wildly impressive expanse of muscle was, well, distracting.

“My eyes are up here, Pika-boo.” ‘Spider-Man’ said with a knowing lilt in his voice, fists propped on his perfectly square hips. He rocked on his feet, purposely thrusting himself toward Peter. Now Peter really couldn’t help but gawk- it looked like he’d stuffed a pepperoni roll down the skin-tight suit, “For the record I’m happy to see you.” he crooned.

Peter sputtered, “Aren’t you supposed to be a _friendly_ neighbourhood Spider-Man?”

“I am friendly! I’m making all the friends. Not my fault if they get distracted undressing me with their eyes. This mask stays on, baby.” he made a crossing gesture over his heart.

“That is the super hero creed.” Peter allowed, relaxing a bit.

“What’s the Pokemon creed?” Spidey wondered.

“Gotta catch ‘em all?” Peter supplied with a laugh.

“How about gotta’ drink ‘em all for now? Then you can catch later.” ‘Spider-Man’ winked at him. How could Peter tell he winked? God was he high right now? Belatedly, as he took the stranger’s outstretched hand, he realized that the nearly-painful thudding of the music had all but stopped and his spidey-senses were unnaturally calm. The man seemed to have erected a little barrier around them, as though they existed in their own, ridiculously costumed world.

At the bar, Peter was passed a glass with white liquid in it, “Liquid ghost.” the stranger announced and Peter tasted the sweet, cocoanut-flavoured drink with a hum, “I don’t strike you as a beer drinker?”

“You don’t strike me as a drinker at all.” the stranger mused, holding up his own matching drink to clink against Peter’s glass.

Peter let him have that one, glad at least that the ‘Spider-Man’ couldn’t see his blush beneath the ghastly Pikachu mask. They got a couple of shots bought for them by someone dressed as Thor and then ‘Spider-Man’ bought them another round and soon Peter was feeling the faintest edges of a buzz creeping in.

Typically, Peter didn’t like being drunk. His Spidey-senses seemed to go into some over-compensation hyper-drive that made him both at once sluggish and hyper-aware of his surroundings. As though he’d see a punch coming a mile away but couldn’t dodge it if he tried. It was an awful feeling and one Peter avoided. It wasn’t hard to avoid, thankfully, since his metabolism took care of any liquor that went into his system relatively quick.

Of course, taking this many drinks in this short a window did the trick, or at least started the trick. And wasn’t this the night for treats after tricks? Peter was possibly already drunk to be thinking like that but something about this red and blue clad stranger seemed to make it all so easy. Easy to relax and to let himself be sluggish, his senses weren’t crying out alarms and he found himself enjoying the music as it thrummed through him.

The music _and_ the body that was persistently bumping up against his. This version of Spider-Man was much taller and much more broad than Peter was. If Peter was a cheetah, this guy was a lion. All bulk and power and Peter was pretty sure in the right circumstances he’d be dangerous. But not here and not now and Peter quite liked the way his big hands felt against his waist and his sides and his stomach. He liked the wall of muscle behind him and the way that that massive cock was getting harder and pressing against his ass. Peter had honestly thought it was a prop until they’d started dancing. Now he was 100% sure that it was real.

“I can’t believe that’s your real dick.” he found himself saying stupidly, his voice higher and more breathy than he’d meant.

“You still trying to catch ‘em all?” the stranger mused, his voice a low rumble of promise against Peter’s ear. Peter felt a shiver go through him- he wasn’t the sort who did this kind of thing. He liked to get to know people, to have _relationships_ but maybe this was part of relaxing. Part of letting go. Or maybe he was making excuses because he really wanted to get his hands into those spider-pants and he wanted more of that voice in his ear and more of those hands on his body.

“Yes. You’ve got me in your web.” again, he knew it was a stupid thing to say but somehow his mouth was’t cooperating with him.

“All tied up like a present, baby boy.” the stranger purred and suddenly Peter found himself pinned to a wall with a gasp. Some tiny, distant alarm dinged in the back of his mind but it was easily overridden by the wave of heat that coursed through him as the powerful arms of the stranger hoisted him, easily tucking Peter’s legs around his waist.

Peter heard himself whine as he wriggled, grinding against his partner through their costumes, “There’s a back door.”

“To your costume?” ‘Spidey’ sounded amused.

“NO! To the building.” Peter squawked with a laugh, his cheeks red again but not enough to stop him from twisting to point. It said ‘emergency exit only’ but suddenly Peter wasn’t in the mood to religiously follow directions.

“Alright.” apparently ‘Spidey’ had been content to try and go all the way right there in the middle of the dance floor but he slid his hands under Peter’s ass and squeezed as he supported him, carrying Peter just like he was across to the door. He spun and pushed it open with his back, gracefully no alarms went off, and then they were in the cool and quiet of the alley.

Suddenly this seemed more dangerous and out-of-character than it had before. Like the music and the atmosphere of the club had excused their behaviour. Out here it was the real world.

Of course those concerns fled Peter’s mind the second he was pushed up against the brick wall, the heat between their bodies re-kindling the mindless desire he’d been suffering before.

“Come on, come on.” Peter panted and pushed his mask up halfway to reveal his mouth. The stranger didn’t do the same, though, he kissed Peter _through_ the Spider-Man mask. It was awkward and Peter found himself resentful of the fabric but he also was sharply aware of the man’s hands tugging his pants down and groping and stroking him, chasing away the brisk coolness of the November air.

“You’re a real treat, unwrapping you--” the stranger growled but Peter interrupted, “Take off your mask?”

‘Spider-Man’ paused and then without warning spun Peter so his chest was against the wall, his bare ass pressed back against the bulging spandex that barely restrained the stranger’s erection. He felt the man shift behind him just as he was bracing himself against the wall and then suddenly a bare mouth was on his neck, kissing and biting and sucking on the skin.

Peter let out a very undignified, grunting moan of pleasure and he ground back without any real satisfaction against the cruel spandex keeping him from the heat of the man’s cock.

“Just a second, Pika-boo, don’t get your pokeballs in a bunch.” he chuckled but Peter could tell he was strained and just as eager and it gave him a bit of confidence, “I’m gonna _faint_ if you’re not fffffucking me soon.” it took a bit of work to get the obscenity off his lips and the awkward sound of it made ‘Spider-Man’ laugh but a second later he was pressing a lube-slicked finger into Peter.

Peter let out a surprised little cry that lengthened into a moan, “You-- came-- prepared.” he panted out between slow and steady intrusions of the finger.

“Of course, Spider-Man is always prepared.” the man agreed sagely before he added a second finger, clearly wasting no time. Peter struggled to adjust, catching his breath to focus on relaxing against the intrusion. It was plenty of stimulation to keep Peter hard, but even so he dropped his weight to one arm and let the other stroke himself slowly and lazily.

He had to wait for what felt like forever before ‘Spidey’ seemed satisfied but Peter knew what he’d felt in those pants so he wasn’t arguing about the time it took to stretch him out- even if they _were_ in a perfectly public alley behind a disgusting dumpster. At least there weren’t street lamps back here to illuminate their debauchery. He took some small solace in that but his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a sudden void inside of him, “Wha--” he began to protest only to be cut off by the head of this stranger’s monster-cock beginning to replace the fingers that had left Peter so empty.

“Oh.” he caught himself and braced both hands against the wall again, as though he needed the extra support. Thankfully, ‘Spider-Man’ took up the slack and a massive hand wrapped around Peter’s cock to take up the duty of stroking it slowly, “Wow-- you’re-- bigger than I-- exp-- ah-- holy--” Peter babbled as he was split in two, stretched beyond his imagination by the slow and thankfully patient stranger.

All Peter got in return was a ragged, heavy breathing from behind him as he inched slowly deeper until finally settling against Peter. There, he stilled and took a few calming breaths, “Objects in spandex are larger than they appear.” he quipped, though his voice had lost the airy casualness of before and was now a husky, gravelly sound that threatened something Peter was only too eager to discover.

“You just-- gonna-- stand there?” Peter goaded between panting breaths, rocking his hips experimentally only to force a sharp gasp and moan of pain-fuelled pleasure from his own lips.

“Take your time, baby boy.” the stranger rumbled, “I’ve got all night.” He had one hand splayed on Peter’s belly while the other stroked him slowly and Peter’s eyes were squeezed shut against his body’s struggle to compensate for being so grandly impaled.

“Please-- please-- man I’m gonna die if you don’t--” Peter whimpered a full minute later, writhing back and forth between the man’s cock and his hand that was still going agonizingly slow.

“Safe word is Squirtle!” ‘Spider-Man’ said before he leaned forward, forcing Peter to re-adjust his brace against the wall, then began to move. Slow at first, but quickening with the enticing friction of Peter’s tight ass. The unmistakable sound of their fucking echoed in Peter’s ears and he was sure anyone would hear it a mile away but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. There was only one thing he wanted right now. Well, two. To be filled to the brim by this monster behind him and to find an equal level of ecstasy, himself. He’d never been quite so mindlessly focused on his own lust before and it was really quite freeing.

The sounds he made were nearly inhuman, the guttural grunts and moans and cries of pleasure that were stifled by a gloved hand that covered his mouth to keep their clandestine rutting more secret than Peter’s mindles bellowing would allow.

When it felt like every thrust was moving his organs and striking some blinding target that had Peter all but sobbing with pleasure, he finally felt the seizing of his orgasm threatening and he sputtered out a plea for the stranger not to stop and then the world tipped upside down. Peter’s voice cracked as he cried out and spilled into the filthy alley, barely avoiding both their shoes.

The added constriction of Peter’s spasming muscles was all the added stimulation that ‘Spider-Man’ needed. He slammed into his perfect little Pikachu one last time before he grunted and folded in half. Peter held up the weight of the man fairly easily and a moment later when they’d both caught their breath, Peter felt the stranger straighten and pull out. Peter moaned with wanton disappointment at the void left behind and trembled as he hiked up his pants and turned around to shoulder the wall for support.

“That was-- wow.” Peter mumbled, the buzz of the liquor having left his system now there was only the afterglow of a very satisfying orgasm to keep him high.

“Yeah I’d say so.” the man tied off a condom and chucked it into the conveniently near dumpster. He’d already tucked away his too-big cock and had pulled his mask down and gotten his gloves on-- all in record time, Peter was impressed, “Next Halloween you be Captain America and I’ll be Charizard.” 

“Next Halloween?” Peter laughed and sagged against the wall, suddenly tired.

“See you around, baby boy.” he agreed as he stepped to reach for the back door.

Peter huffed and straightened, planning to head home. He got to the end of the alley before he realized where he recognized the term ‘Baby Boy’ from.

Wade watched from a crack in the door, not sure if he felt satisfaction or disappointment in the way that Spidey’s lithe little body stiffened up when he realized what had happened.


	13. Prostitution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie is forced to make ends meet with a John named Bucky.

Stevie didn’t know how it had come to this. This dark room with a strange man who smelled of tobacco and fresh-turned dirt was the last place he’d seen himself when he’d lost his factory job three days ago. 

“Have a drink.” the man says with a roguish smile that Stevie admittedly finds attractive. He’s pretty sure people don’t do this because they’re attracted.

Stevie doesn’t drink. He can’t hold his liquor and his hangovers are grotesque but he needs a bit of liquid courage right now. His roommate was drafted into the war last month and making rent without the steady income of the factory job was going to be impossible. He’d had one too many asthma attacks and bouts of the flu for them to keep his spot for him- they needed it filled with someone more reliable.

He’d been kicked out of line from the recruitment tent again when this stranger had picked him up. At first it had been the promise of a drink and a meal for some friendly conversation but fairly quickly it had become something else entirely.

“Don’t worry about it.” the tall, handsome stranger had told him when he’d set down the cash for their burgers and milkshakes, a flourish in his motions of brazen confidence. He had scruff but a fresh haircut that suggested he was going overseas with the rest of the brave young men that Stevie so yearned to join.

“This is good.” Stevie sputtered when he’d managed to gulp down a few mouthfuls of beer.

“Yeah?” his new friend laughed slightly, though it sounded warm and fond, not condescending.

They were in a small hotel room, modest with well-worn blankets and flat pillows. Not expensive but at least it was private.

“What’s your name?” the man finally asked and Stevie almost wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it- did that make this more than what it was? He didn’t know where to draw the lines here.

“Steven.”

“You don’t look like a _Steven_.” the man smirked but it was teasing.

“Steve. Stevie.” he admitted, a little flustered.

“Stevie.” the man purred and then nodded, “Now that sounds better. C’mere, Stevie.”

Steve swallowed and moved from where he was perched on a chair, his grip on the neck of the beer bottle white-knuckled, “What’s _your_ name?”

“Sergeant Barnes.” he returned with an impish smile, holding his hand out.

After a beat of staring at it, Steve took it, but said, “You don’t look like a _Sergeant Barnes_.”

“Got me.” Barnes admitted and gave a gentle tug on Stevie’s hand, “Bucky is what my friends call me.”

“So what do I call you?”

“You could call me James.” he offered and helped Steve into his lap, his hands firm and strong and somehow soothing against the brazen discomfort that this situation ought to have been putting him in.

Stevie adjusted himself a bit awkwardly in Bucky’s lap but he found a nice spot to settle in.

“You ever kissed a guy, Stevie?” Bucky wanted to know, gently plucking the bottle out of Stevie’s hands.

“No. Well, yes. Once.” he admitted, his ears turning a bit pink at the admission despite his compromising position.

“Why don’t you show me?” James invited.

The kiss was gentle and cautious and after a couple of seconds, Bucky prompted a deepening, offering Stevie a blatant invitation to explore. Stevie had to remind himself, as he was tempted to hesitate, that the expectations had been made pretty clear. He was here and he wasn’t going to back down now.

His arms looped around the back of Bucky’s neck to anchor himself there and he could feel Bucky hardening beneath him, the soldier’s powerful hands holding Stevie’s back firmly.

“Good.” Bucky rumbled, “Now, don’t you think we’ve got too much clothes on?”

“Yeah.” Stevie agreed too-quickly as he proceeded to unbutton his shirt and tug off his undershirt. Bucky did the same, somehow managing to keep Stevie balanced in his lap the whole while. Bare skin beneath their palms heightened the frisson between them and at Bucky’s guidance (or was it an order, considering the context Steve wasn’t sure,) Stevie rocked a bit in his lap.

It wasn’t long before their pants joined their shirts on the floor and they stretched out on the bed, allowing their bodies to press and grind together. Steve gasped and stiffened at the first invasion of Bucky’s fingers but he was kissed into submission, reminding himself for the thousandth time that he needed this- in more than one way.

When Bucky had finally sunk into Steve, worked open by the soldier’s calloused, attentive fingers, it was with a heady moan, “Hell, Stevie, you’re perfect.”

“Not-- ah-- so bad yourself, soldier.” Stevie whined.

“Call me Bucky.” he requested as he began to move in shallow, gentle strokes.

Stevie couldn’t breathe for a moment but instead he said, “James.” in a languid moan.

Bucky might have been embarrassed with how quickly he came except that Stevie was right behind him, then they settled for a moment to recover and Stevie said, “When do you ship out?”

“Tomorrow.” Bucky confessed as he forced himself to sit up, going to the sink to wet a wash cloth to clean them up.

It was oddly solemn and even when Stevie was re-dressed and Bucky had tucked a fold of bills into his pocket without showing Steve how much it was, they traded an oddly gentle kiss. Steve left, feeling less dirty than he’d thought he would.

The men that followed weren’t the same but Steve found solace in the surprising and increasingly intimate correspondence he shared with a certain soldier on the front.


	14. Pillow Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia plays the part of a pillow princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {sorry this is a loose interpretation of the prompt}

Natalia could hear his words in her ear as she perched on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets slipping against the bare stockings on her legs.

_You will be a doll_, he had coached her, his palms rough and his breath hot in her ear.

This man did want a doll, Natalia was sure of that. She tucked her hands into her lap but the Mark gave her a lopsided grin, “Now now, I thought we were going to get more comfortable?” he punctuated the sentence with a POP! of a cork as he opened a bottle of chilled champagne.

Nat’s lips curved into a shy smile and she stood, reaching behind her to unzip her dress— but she was a doll and dolls didn’t undress themselves, “Can you help with the clasp?” she asked.

_He will want control_, he had turned her with a hand on her hip and brushed his fingers over the nape of her neck.

The Mark now smiled with pleasure at the continual power being fed to him through this pretty redhead he’d happened upon, completely by coincidence, in the hotel bar downstairs, “Of course, darling.”

He really wasn’t terrible, Natalia had to admit, sure he liked his girls about as exciting as starfish, but he was generous and perhaps a little naive. He’d invited her right to his room with far less work than Nat had been expecting to have to put forth. The Fist had been right about that, she reflected.

“There you are.” Mark flicked the clasp open and Natalia turned back around to let the little black dress slip from her shoulders and pool around her ankles, “Much better.” he agreed in a low hum, his dark eyes skittered down and up her nearly naked body with appreciation.

She had yet to perfect the art of blushing on cue so she distracted with an innocent cock of her head, “Are you going to pour me a drink?”

“Oh yes, yes of course.” Mark laughed at his own distraction and Natalia considered that she probably ought to have felt a sliver of pity but she didn’t. She just took the glass and tasted a sip, leaving a bright red kiss behind on the brim of the champagne flute, “It’s good.” she hummed, then wrinkled her nose, “Bubbly.”

“That’s what they call it.” Mark agreed and gestured to the bed.

Natalia sat down, feigning modesty as she crossed her legs, her stockings held up to her thighs by dainty white garter straps- the dress had been black but everything beneath it was white, the juxtaposition by design. 

Her instincts were always to be forward. To be in control and holding the reins but here she was, playing coy and retiring and batting her eyelashes. It was an act, certainly, and one that held an inherent power in itself- the truth of her mission a weapon that The Mark didn’t have.

Even so, she had to reflect on The Fist’s teachings, his gravelly voice in the back of her mind like a constant companion, _He will want to see you clinging to his every word- not bored or distracted._

So she did, sipping her champagne between every round of tepid conversation. When their glasses were empty and set aside the touching began. His fingers were round and soft, telling of their lack of hard work, and they slipped the straps of her bra off of her shoulders with a slow caution that offered her ample opportunity to revoke the unspoken consent that had led them here.

She didn’t, Natalia’s laugh was soft as she turned to give him access to the clasp at the back, “I’m not made of glass.”

“No, you’re made of ivory.” The Mark breathed as he cast aside the flimsy scrap of fabric. He lost the trepidation and moved full steam ahead then, his hands cupping her breasts without hesitation as he leaned in to press a heavy kiss against her painted mouth.

Here they went, _Let him lead_, came The Fist’s voice in her head and she did, stretching out on the bed like a starfish to let The Mark have his way with her. She let out soft sounds of pleasure and approval but made little effort to return the enthusiasm for his pleasure. Natalia had been certain that it would be a dealbreaker, but she followed her directive.

To her disbelief, but not really surprise (given where the direction had come from,) The Mark brought her to genuine climax through patient and ardent ministrations and afterward finished himself to the view of her splayed, limp body.

When he was asleep she stole silently into his briefcase and pulled the necessary documents to copy with a slender camera from her discarded shoe. It was all she needed and she re-dressed to slip out, a party girl having paid for her free drinks and dinner with a brief warming of a bed.

Two blocks away, her handler awaited and they returned to The House together, tucked into a small, nondescript car.

Waiting in her room was The Fist, his long hair swept off of his face by a casual gesture, bright blue eyes and thin lips that curved ever so slightly up at the corners- but only for her.

“You did it.” he assumed, not imagining she would fail in any way.

“Of course.” she lifted her chin, her expression sharp and challenging. His lips twitched and he reached around her to close her door, “You didn’t show him this strong head, did you?” he arched a brow, just as challenging.

“No.” she narrowed her eyes, “I was the perfect _kukla_. The perfect doll.”

“And you hated every moment.” he mused, the corners of his eyes wrinkling ever so slightly with a smile that didn’t reach his mouth, oddly.

“I completed my mission.” she replied sharply.

“Tell me you were satisfied.” he challenged her, his hand pressed to her hip then slipped across her thigh to dip between her legs.

Natalia’s nostrils flared with defiance, her jaw flexed. His hand slid up the flesh of her inner thigh, her stockings not having been replaced. Without her answer his fingers pressed against her, circling once gently with those rough, calloused fingerprints, then pressed in. His invasion was all but welcomed by the slickness between her lips and he smirked as she drew a pointed breath.

“You weren’t. Laying there with his mouth on you, your hands idle- like a pretty picture on a wall, worth nothing but the beauty you provide—”

She interrupted him with a sharp elbow to his gut and a twist of her body, wrenching his fingers free from her so he was pinned to the wall abruptly, her forearm against his throat, “Don’t move.” she told him before she dropped to her knees and proceeded to take matters into her own hands, proactively chasing the high of offering pleasure and in the same note thanking him for his guidance on this mission.


	15. Fem Dom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta Natasha whips Omega Tony into shape ahead of his heat.

“I _said_ don’t move.” Natasha’s voice was crisp and firm and Tony recognized it as her Working Voice. The one she used on perps. Villains. In no-nonsense situations where she was in complete and utter control.

That _voice_ buzzed straight down his spine and into his cock.

“Bah--” he panted around the gag in his mouth, “Nnnn--”

“Good boy.” she praised as he stopped trying to inch back toward her. Her leather gloved hand slid along the smooth skin of Tony’s backside, tracing the red racing stripes that had been left by the crop in her opposite hand, “If you think you can use your mouth for more than snarky chatter, I might take that gag out.”

Tony could only whimper, his back arched to angle himself up toward her like an offering.

“Or maybe you want to keep being bad?” he could _hear_ her arched brow in her voice and he let out a little laugh around the ball in his mouth but it was cut through with a yelp and a moan as her crop came hissing down against his flesh again.

“You know your heat isn’t for another week, Tony.” Natasha drawled, her finger tracing his exposed, slick hole. He was so hard he was sure he was leaking onto the bed spread but a tight ring around the base of his cock wasn’t doing him any favours.

He made a muffled sound of agreement and twitched his hips to try and chase her finger.

“I’m sure Steve is going to make a play.” she continued, obliging his silent request by slipping a single digit into him. The leather covering her finger wasn’t as warm as flesh might have been but the texture was unique and Tony let out a guttural moan at the feel of it, “But we both know you need to be softened up before then.”

“Mhmhn.” Tony agreed mindlessly as he tried to fuck himself on Nat’s finger. She added a second and slid the leather folded tip of the crop down the length of Tony’s neglected, throbbing cock. The contact made Tony shiver and he dropped to his elbows.

Natasha’s fingers slid free, “On your hands.” she ordered, tapping the crop against Tony’s tender balls as a silent threat. He forced himself up, those arms trembling. She gave him a couple more gentle taps, never crossing the line from over-sensitive stimulation to actual _pain_, then she straightened and walked around the bed in a slow circle.

It was a narrow bed with four tall, elegantly carved posts set in the middle of a large room. On the walls hung other whips, gags, restraints and more. There was a chest of various ropes and scarves and blindfolds tucked into the side and drawers full of a variety of phallically (and otherwise) shaped toys with a full range of static and active modes.

The room was in the basement of Tony’s personal mansion. He didn’t often spend time here, being so addicted to his work, but clearly it was well stocked for such occasions. 

He hadn’t told Natasha that it was originally his first Alpha’s idea and that he hadn’t actually used it since that man’s death- he’d been either suffering through heats on his own or using the most discreet heat hotels- but here they were. Nat had told him that he needed to be taken in hand and Tony honestly couldn’t argue. It was something of a blunt agreement they’d come to that had very little to do with romance and more to do with fulfilling of physical and sexual need.

Nat grabbed the collar that had been fixed around Tony’s throat and tugged him off of the bed. Tony’s limbs were jello but he managed to scramble after her, “I’m pleased you invited me down here, Tony.” she told him, even though it hadn’t really been an invite as much as she’d discovered the room (Tony knew he shouldn’t have left her alone in the mansion) and then had all but demanded they use it to prepare him for the upcoming heat that she was all but certain Steve would be demanding Tony for.

Until now, Tony and Steve had been butting heads with brutal ferocity and Nat was, understandably, concerned about the cohesion of their team should things come to blows or that heat go poorly.

“Hands on the wall.” she told him and Tony quickly obliged, gripping horizontal bars on which leather straps had been affixed. Natasha tightened them around Tony’s wrists to keep them there and then opened the nearest drawer with her far hand while the nearer one stroked Tony’s needy cock with a lazy lack of haste. Tony trembled and his breathing grew harsh around the gag as Nat finally came up with the toy she wanted. It was slim with a targeted bulb on the end and she twisted a knob on the flared end of it. A buzzing sound filled Tony’s ears and he whined with anticipation.

“Stay still.” she warned him. Her hand left his cock, much to his chagrin, but he was rewarded a moment later by a thrilling stretch and subsequent vibration that shot fireworks behind his eyes. His cock strained, trying but failing to point upward with the pressure of the ring that constricted him.

Natasha ensured the toy wasn’t going anywhere, for now, and then stood to unstrap the gag. Tony coughed and licked his sore lips, looking at her over his shoulder with a dopey expression, “Where’d you learn this?”

“You don’t want to know.” she gave him a faint smirk and wrapped her hand around his length again, “Now, Tony?”

“Yes?” he shuddered.

“You’re going to take Steve, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. If he takes his Ken-doll head out of his ass for two--”

Nat’s hand squeezed around Tony tight and he yelped, straining for a beat before he stilled, panting. Her thumb swiped over his sensitive head and she reached to draw the toy half out of him, “Tony.”

“Fine-- fine he’s-- ah fuck he’s-- if he asks nicely.” Tony gasped.

“He’s going to put you on your knees.” Natasha warned as she pushed the toy back in with agonizing slowness.

“Yes.” Tony breathed.

“You want to be on your knees, Tony.” Natasha assured him, easing her grip on his cock to stroke him too-slowly again.

“Y-yes I do.”

“You want to take his knot.” Natasha told him, “He’s going to bend you over and fuck you like a fifties housewife.”

“If he makes me wear a skirt…” Tony quipped and Nat rolled her eyes, pulling the toy free to set aside. Tony moaned, “No, no wait I’m not--”

Her hand left him too and his moans doubled in misery. She unwrapped the straps and gave him such a severe look that he dropped to his knees without her even having to order it.

“I want to be on my knees.” he agreed, using every ounce of self control not to touch himself.

“And the Alpha’s knot?” she arched a brow, her hands on her hips, Tony’s hands wound up just beneath hers, holding onto her like he needed the crutch to remain upright.

“I-- I-- Nat, he’s such a self-righteous prick.” he whined.

“On the bed.” she ordered. She didn’t ask him about Steve again, instead she just spent a few minutes pinkening his backside again, having provided him a toy equipped with a knot to suck at Natasha’s order.

Finally, when it seemed Tony was on the verge of imploding, Natasha removed the toy from Tony’s mouth and pressed the tip of it into him with barely any resistance. Tony moaned, the sound gravelly and mindless, “Please.” he gasped, “Please-- I need-- the knot.”

“Who’s knot?” Natasha pressed the toy into Tony until it began to flare at the start of the knot- a knot which was not comparable to the size of Steve’s, she knew first hand.

“I-- just--” Tony gripped the slatted headboard and trembled with a full-body shudder. Truth was that he was denying himself. Truth was he wanted to be bent over and fucked into the floor by Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers more than he wanted anything.

Admitting that to Natasha was going to change things, though.

He probably wouldn’t have agreed to this if he didn’t eventually want that to happen, though. Fuck.

“Steve.” he finally whispered.

Natasha pumped the knot larger and said, “Louder.” she pushed it more firmly into Tony, finally stretching him with a pleasant burn.

“Steve!” Tony’s voice rose, nearly cracking with effort, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Steve.”

“Good boy.” Natasha praised and slid her palm along the underside of Tony’s cock at the same time as she forced the knot past Tony’s tight rim. It was all Tony needed, a broken cry tore from his throat and his cock convulsed, barely touched. She pumped the knot bigger and bigger as Tony spilled onto the bedspread and Tony moaned with a guttural overstimulation as it filled him fully.

He collapsed a moment later, convulsing around the knot and twitching painfully as he softened. Natasha gently moved the bedspread out from under Tony and gingerly pulled the ring off of his spent cock. She left the knot right where it was then climbed onto the bed to cradle Tony’s head in her lap, a soft blanket spread over him. Her Beta pheromones were soothing and comforting and she pet Tony’s hair with a contented confidence, “Good Omega.” she rewarded him.


End file.
